


Lightning in a Bottle

by Lady Day (day221b)



Series: Lightning in a Bottle [1]
Category: Night at the Museum (2006 2009)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intimacy, M/M, NSFS, NSFW, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 282,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/day221b/pseuds/Lady%20Day
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Octavius's reaction upon encountering Jedediah for the first time is something he will not acknowledge for over a quarter of a century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Awakening

"Steady, men," Octavius advises in a whisper to his officers.

They made the journey, climbing to the top of the exhibit and quietly slipping past the boundary of the Old West diorama where the townsfolk are engaged in an assault on their eardrums. The words are meaningless, the song gibberish.

_“...Camptown ladies sing this song,_

_Doo-dah! doo-dah!_

_Camptown race-track five miles long,_

_Oh, the doo-dah day!…”_

The townspeople are certainly odd, each wearing the strangest-looking headgear Octavius has ever seen. They must be simpletons. They don’t even notice the invading army. Barbarians. Small numbers. Easy prey. Regardless, the Roman Empire will acknowledge no boundaries. They will expand their territory at all costs.

When the majority of his army is in place, he lifts his sword. “For the glory of Rome!”

With that call to arms, his men race forward, their battle cries a roar not unlike the fires of hell.

A man sitting astride a speckled steed jerks his horse around sharply at the sound and gapes at the approaching horde.

Octavius halts in his tracks to look into a pair of blue eyes. His eyes are very wide and a startling, vivid blue. Cobalt, certainly. They are so alluring, in fact, that Octavius might have lowered his weapon. The man’s face is framed by a tousled mop of blond hair.

Tilting his head, Octavius can only stare. The cowboy has a crooked nose, no doubt caused from repeated fights in his youth. Lean body. He is not handsome in the classical sense, nor is he as pretty as some who practice their trade inside the sanctuary of brothels, but he is mesmerizing all the same.

Octavius has no time to feel appalled at how his pulse quickens, how his cheeks burn, or how he can’t seem to focus on anything else because, at that moment, the other man lifts a strange-looking weapon from a short scabbard at his hip and points it directly at Octavius's chest.

Octavius flinches at the sharp, metallic _click_.

Whatever the weapon is supposed to do fails as the man exclaims, “Dagnabit!” The cowboy shakes the weapon and then points it at Octavius again. Wild desperation sparks in the other man’s eyes. Another metallic click. He scrambles for an identical weapon strapped to his other hip and drops that apparatus to the ground when it fails, too. He leaps off his horse just as Octavius propels himself forward, intent on charging the man.

Instead of surrendering, the cowboy’s head whips left and then right as he orders his people — many of whom are running out of a tunnel half hidden in the side of a mountain — to arm themselves with whatever they can find, shouting that his “guns” won’t fire.

“This ain’t no drill! Use anything you all got handy! Defend yourselves, boys!” The cowboy picks up a rock, spins, and chucks it at Octavius with all of his might.

The rock bounces off Octavius's helmet, and Octavius falls backward, senseless. The next clear thing he remembers is hearing the groans of his men, many of them as dazed as he is. Others are still fighting. He hears the sound of clashing, clanging, and the whooshes of displaced air.

He turns his head to see some of the townspeople throwing punches, jumping, pivoting, spinning out with their legs, putting their weight and speed into their kicks. His own soldiers go flying backward at the onslaught.

The cowboy kicks up dust in his enthusiasm.

“Whoo-whee! Yeah!”

How could these barbarians best Rome’s greatest army with little more than their fists, feet, rocks, and a few digging implements? Inwardly, he berates himself for his arrogance over not sending a scouting party before the initial invasion to at least satisfy himself of his opponents’ numbers. He is rusty, and he doesn’t know why. When they’d initially embarked on their quest, he felt he hadn’t gripped a sword in over a millennia, much less led an army. He hadn’t been thinking and that galls him, just as being felled so early in battle galls him.

“Hey, I got another one!” the cowboy exclaims.

Octavius feels a pair of hands grip him roughly as he is rolled onto his side. The cowboy quickly straddles his waist, grips his wrists, and ties him up with rope so fast it’s obvious the man’s done this many times before. Octavius struggles against the hemp rope now binding his wrists and ankles, squinting up at his captor.

The cowboy grins, giving Octavius a second of appraisal, and folds his arms over his chest. “That’s right, kemosabe,” he confirms with a slow, lazy drawl. “You’re lookin’ at Erie County’s hog-tying champion of 1814. Whatcha fellas doing gettin’ your panties all in a bunch for like that? Invadin’ and the like. This kinda thing ain’t done on my watch, boy. This here’s our land. This’ll teach ya not ta' go messin’ with good Ol’ Jedediah.”

The name is almost lyrical. It is strange, foreign, but still it fits somehow. The man looks like a Jedediah. Octavius pastes on a smile and tells him so in his most syrupy-sweet voice.

“Jedediah, may I call you Jedediah? Perhaps we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot," he says, and introduces himself properly.

“Octo _— who?”_ Jedediah huffs out a breath, either annoyance or laughter — Octavius isn't certain — but the skin around the cowboy’s eyes crinkles up _._ “What kind of goofy name is that?”

Octavius’s ego deflates somewhat. Usually his name inspires awe and respect, so it is not without some offended pride that he thunders, “It’s Octavius, and it’s my name, you simpleton! I come from a proud and noble lineage! Can the same be said for you?” His temper flares, and he decides to employ Roman diplomacy. “I demand you release me at once!”

Jedediah moves with an easy, loose confidence, exuding calm. It is appealing, but no less grating to Octavius in his current predicament. “That’s a big no-can-do, buckaroo.”

“What manner of speech is this? You mock me with your heathen tongue! By the gods, you’ll rue the day that —”

Octavius’s indignant tirade is cut short when something moves in the shadows and his gaze flicks to a mug full of water that has not fallen over in the fray. The water ripples in sudden disturbance within its tin confines. It’s then he registers a low vibration in the ground and peers into the gloom past the diorama. Energy builds in intensity, and the ground beneath them shakes, knocking Jedediah off his feet.

“What in the Sam Hill…”

A man — _a giant_ — in some kind of dark uniform screams for his life, skids to a stop long enough to glance over his shoulder, and then pounds down a —

_Hallway._

A hallway, Octavius is sure of it. However, the measurements are impossibly large.

The giant is pursued by the animated remains of some foul beast. The sheer scope of its size is monstrous. The creature stops to roar in triumph, its shrill cry deafening. It stops in front of Octavius and Jedediah, leans its massive head into the diorama, and tilts its bare skull, sniffing.

Jedediah gasps, recoils, scuttling backwards on the palms of his hands.

The fear that rears up in Octavius is colossal; he cannot help but tremble uncontrollably.

 _“Still your movements,”_ he whispers to his enemy with a grimace, surprised he’s offering this bit of advice, surprised further still when the advice is taken except for an almost imperceptible, shaky-sounding, _“Yeah…”_

Octavius hears the terrified shrieks of his and Jedediah’s men blending together as they stop fighting. There’s the noise of frantic footfalls, and then they, too, settle down to cower in silence.

The beast continues to sniff, breathing in sand and dry dirt. Shaking its head, the creature sneezes, blowing the black canvas hat from Jedediah’s head.

Courage leaves Octavius, and he mouths a silent prayer. _“Jupiter, protect me.”_

He scrunches up his face and closes his eyes, imagining himself invisible when the creature whips its head in his direction, but he remains statue-like and unmoving, quietly cursing Jedediah for leaving him vulnerable, trussed up like an offering to the gods.

A few breathless moments tick by, and Octavius dares to open his eyes. The creature, without any visible means for lung capacity, mewls forlornly, and then chuffs. It backs gingerly out of the diorama and rears up to its full, impressive height, and returns to its pursuit of the giant with a hopeful, almost puppy-like shake of its considerable tail.

Without so much as a pause to catch their breath, a gargantuan chocolate-brown horse comes clomping along with an equally enormous rider in an unfamiliar dress uniform sitting on top of it. At the sight of figures in the diorama, the horse rears up on its hind legs with the forelegs kicking off the ground, startled.

“Easy, easy there, Little Texas,” the rider soothes.

 _“Little_ Texas?" Jedediah scoffs with a hint of hysteria in his voice. Not that Octavius blames him. If it wasn’t for that note of panic, he might have believed he’d gone mad.

At Jedediah’s words, the rider turns his attention their way with a genteel tip of his hat.

“Evening, men!”

Octavius can only gape.

The man’s eyes fill with compassion as he takes in the nearly defeated Roman army and clicks his tongue softly, hopping down from his horse. “Oh, dear.” With a sigh, he plucks a soldier from off the ground. The soldier screams, squirming as the giant begins untying the knots.

Finding his voice, Octavius shouts, “Tiberius! Steady on, man! Cease your struggles. He’s freeing you!”

Tiberius ignores his command in favor of screaming, sniveling, squirming, clawing, and pleading in turns. “No! He’s going to eat me, my liege! No!”

“Now, now. I would never. Too gristly –“

Tiberius shrieks and bites the big man’s gloved thumb.

“Ow!” The man flaps his hand, shaking away the sting. “Joke, son. It was just a little joke." His eyebrows shoot up, and he asks, "Excitable little fellow, isn’t he?"

Octavius manages a weak smile and agrees with some embarrassment. "He's always been thus."

“No!” Tiberius continues screaming.

“Hey! Whoa. Stop. Who are ya callin’ _little_ , you overgrown, brobdingnagian freak of nature?” Jedediah protests.

“Good word.” Octavius nods to himself. “I approve,” he declares with a lift of his chin. He may not know precisely what the word means, but he can certainly read between the lines, and it sounds smart. “Perhaps you’re not such a simpleton, after all.”

“Aw, come on. Don't go agreeing with me now after all your invadin’. You,” and he points a finger in Octavius’s direction. “You’ve lost your bootlickin’ privledges, Octagon."

"It's Octavius," Octavius grumbles before laying his head back down on the ground. “Cretin,” he mutters under his breath.

The cowboy ignores him, stalking forward to confront the giant. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Now wait a dad-gum minute…” Jedediah waves his arms to no avail; the giant keeps working at the binding as gently as he dares. “Stop! You got no right! Them’s our prisoners!” When the giant continues ignoring him, Jedediah stomps his feet, kicking the dirt with his boot. “This ain’t no fair! We caught ‘em on our land fair’n square!”

“Do you know what the most important single ingredient in the formula of life is, son?” the giant asks.

Octavius and Jedediah share a scowl and then eye the man skeptically.

“It's knowing how to get along with people," he gently chastises.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud!” Rolling his head with a squint, Jedediah asks, “Who _**are**_ you?”

Once Tiberius is freed, the giant gives a little bow and a salute. “Theodore Roosevelt at your service, but you can call me Teddy.”

Before Teddy can reach out to undo Octavius’s bindings, Octavius gaze flicks down the hall and he takes in the chaos surrounding them outside the box they are safely ensconced in, for he sees now they are ensconced in a concave box dug deep into the wall.

He shakes his head to clear his vision, but the sight remains.

Monsters.

Monkeys.

Mayhem.

Exotic creatures of all shapes and sizes are roaming loose. Metal men clang their way along, smacking into walls. Jade statues have sprung to life and their claws scuff the floor as they amble past. Across the room, a primitive people are attempting to topple a faceless soldier, hacking at the back of his ankle with hatchets with little success.

Octavius goes back to gaping, his mind reeling. “What manner of sorcery is this?”


	2. Causing a Ruckus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are friends even when they're enemies.

The second night is much like the first, as is the third, and so on. Octavius gathers his army for attack, intent on conquering the Old West because it’s a matter of pride now.

Many nights pass this way. And most times, he and his men are bested just as soundly as when they first awoke — with Octavius hog-tied — as he declares with as much calm dignity as he can muster, “It’s all a ploy, you realize. I’m learning your attacks in order to counter your movements.”

To which, Jedediah inevitably replies, “Mmm-hmm.”

“What you see before you is not failure, but strategy,” Octavius declares with a proud lift of his chin, “I’m luring you into a false sense of security. I can be patient. My army is wearing down your defenses to the point of eventual collapse. It’s simply a matter of time before your resources are depleted and your will is exhausted.”

“I’m shakin’ in my boots, toga boy. Keep on yammerin’. I got all night.”

“Your resistance will prove futile. You will be conquered!”

"Sounds a bit like Roman melodrama if you ask me."

“I'm not asking you! Your insolent tongue may mock now, but mark my words, barbarian. One day I shall have you on your knees before me.”

The skin around Jedediah’s eyes crinkles and he huffs. “Now you’re just bein’ ornery.”

“The only question which remains is if you wish to surrender honorably, or if you want this all to end in bloodshed!”

“Easy, easy. Ain’t nobody gonna be bleeding on my watch. I done told ya that. Ease up a smidge on the reins there, hoss. And stop grittin' your teeth so tight. I swear you could bite the sites off a six-gun.”

“I grow weary of your incomprehensible babble!” Octavius sighs explosively, turning his face away. “Please be quiet. If I am to suffer through this indignity, I should at least be granted silence!”

“You’re the one kickin’ up a fuss, ya big baby. Take it like a man. I'm chatty ‘cause you keep lollygaggin’.”

Jedediah uncrosses his arms and crouches down low, pausing a moment to lick his lips when Octavius scowls up at him. His smile is lazy, languid.

“Look. I appreciate your drive, your persistence, even. Really, I like it. And I know a man’s gotta have a hobby — a destiny — if you will. A life goal is important. But have ya ever considered that maybe bein’ a conqueror really isn’t your calling, October?”

Octavius meets Jedediah’s gaze with a sneer. “My name,” he announces with a lift of his chin, “is _Octavius!”_

He rolls over with supreme effort, shouting a battle cry, and rams his body into Jedediah's knees as hard as he can. Jedediah waves his arms to keep his balance, but the blow knocks him backward a few steps to fall over on his rump.

Octavius glares over at Jedediah, who is splayed out on his back, staring up at the sky and shaking his head.

“God, you’re scrappy...”

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius and his men never challenge the Mayans — at least not after the incident known simply as: _“That Time of Which We Do Not Speak."_

Octavius will remember very little, which is probably for the best. The Romans hadn’t even been trying to conquer the primitive people, and were taken by surprise when they found themselves dodging the drug-tipped darts that zinged past their heads.

He knows from experience that the Temple of Kukulcan has an odd, chirping echo. The acoustics bounce off the walls, sounding not unlike that of a bird, as he races through its humid corridors.

At the very top, he plays a frenzied game of tug-of-war with a pair Mayans over the possession of one of his soldiers, Lucius.

Octavius isn’t given to bouts of true viciousness; it isn’t in his nature. Fortunately for Lucius, he finds his inner savage. He wins, barely, feeling heroic when he finally gets the upper hand and manages to drive several of the Mayans far enough back that they topple end over end on their own step-pyramid.

Octavius realizes that he cannot speak for the entire Mayan culture, but the ones housed in this diorama are psychotic.

The initial climb was easy when he raced up the pyramid, fueled on adrenaline and determination, but it is a whole other matter coming down. The ancient stairs are steep and treacherous, but he manages to keep his balance as he pushes Lucius ahead of him, with Tiberius and Marcus at his heels. Or, they were. Somewhere he’s lost them in the fray.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp, stabbing prick at the back of his neck, and he loses his footing, falling the last several steps.

Head swimming, Octavius picks himself up, and staggers forward. And then he’s slumping down to his knees, and falling back on his rump into a sloppy sitting position, legs stretched out.

As the war rages around him, he pulls out the dart, stares accusingly at it for a beat, and then tosses it aside. He manages to push himself up, slowly. Something in his head seems disconnected from the events, and his vision blurs.

Oblivious, Octavius stumbles through the melee. Swaying, he blinks slowly, lethargically, trips, and falls out of the Mayan diorama.

He hardly feels a thing.

_"Gaaah! Geez, that looked like it hurt! That was quite a tumble there, partner!"_

“Who calls?” Octavius blinks up with a frown, adjusting his helmet. His gaze flicks over to the Old West. At first he can’t quite manage to focus his eyes, but when he does, he sees Jedediah crouched at the edge of his own diorama. "Oh. It's you. What do you want?"

 _"Not much. The stars up above, the wind at my back. Watchin’ lightning bugs light up as they float along the breeze. The sound of crickets at night. The smell of smoke and that homey, happy, crackly-sound wood makes over a good fire. But enough about me. You're lookin’ mighty woozy there, Octane,"_ Jedediah drawls, tilts his head, and then stands up. _“Looks like they got you good!”_

Octavius rises to his feet, swallowing a hard lump of irritation.

Leaning heavily on his sword, he scowls up at Jedediah safely ensconced in the Old West.

"It’s Oc-taay-vius. Say it with me. Oc-taay-vius!"

Jedediah huffs out a laugh. He dips his head forward, hands on hips. _“Looks like you still got some fight in ya yet, I see!”_

Octavius stumbles around drunkenly, but doesn’t fall. "Come to gloat?"

 _"'Course, I did! Bout time you boys get a taste of your own medicine. Reckon you better stay on your feet, iffin ya know what's good for you. Them Mayans be **loco!”**_ Jedediah offers. _“Big on human sacrifice, I hear!”_

“Are you trying to frighten me?” Octavius puffs out his chest. “For if that’s the case...” He falters, thinks it over, and then concedes. “Bravo! Well played! I am thoroughly terrified now. Thank you!”

Jedediah laughs again, sauntering along the edge of the display. _“No problemo, kemosabe. I do what I can. You see, I heard tell about them Mayan boys. Rumors, really. I hear they like to hold a cowpoke by his arms and legs. Then their priests come along and cut open a fella’s chest…”_ He pantomimes the action. _“And rips out a man’s timepiece."_

“Timepiece?” Octavius echoes, blinking at the irreverent banter, attempting to decipher Jedediah’s meaning in his own drug-induced stupor. “You mean his heart?” He rubs absently at his chestplate, grimacing in distaste.

_“‘Course I mean his heart. His ticker. I'm callin' it that because it's still ticking right along when they rip it outta ya!”_

Octavius raises his eyebrows, murmuring a weak-sounding, “Oh…”

_“That’s right, boy. You sure you ain't heard tell of them Mayans before?”_

“No, I haven't, you buffoon!”

Jedediah ducks his head, holding up his gloved hands in surrender. _“Fine, fine. I’ll fill you in now. Mayans. Human sacrifice. Sternum-carving contests. Heart starts off on the inside, then it's on the outside. All magic-like except for the screaming and hollering.”_

“You realize you’re not helping!”

_“Why would I? Don’t sound none too bright of me. I figure you Romans have it under control. And if you don’t, well, them Mayans will be doing me and my boys a favor. We can finally get back to business. We got us a railroad to build. It’s Manifest Destiny.”_

Octavius has no idea what Jedediah is prattling on about, but instead of exposing his ignorance he asks, “Then why aren’t you building it right now?”

 _“Me? Heard the ruckus. Decided ta' get a ringside seat and enjoy the show. That, and I reckon I like aggravating you.”_ Jedediah shrugs, his manner laid back. Disinterested. After a beat, he toes at the dirt and adds, _“You aggravated yet?”_

Octavius pauses long enough to think about it. “No. Not particularly, no.”

 _“Hmm. Must be whatever they dip the darts in, I expect. Mellows a fella out, I hear.”_ Jedediah stops as a thought hits him. _“At least you’re lookin’ a little less zombie-like than ya did. You were movin' as slow as a crippled turtle.”_

“What?”

_“Now you're lookin' more like a drowsy kitten all tucked in for the night. In a cozy little sweater, to boot.”_

“I’m sorry...” Octavius lets his words trail off, falters, attempts to concentrate. “I’m not...really following...no...”

 _“You’re still awake, ain’t ya? Less’n you’ve been sleep-arguing with me the entire time. Wouldn’t put it past you!”_ Jedediah shakes his head, hands gripping his belt. _“Whoo-whee! You sure are one feisty Roman, boy. Y’know that?”_

Octavius stares up at Jedediah with uncomprehending eyes.

 _“Y’know what?”_ Jedediah waves away whatever point he tries to make. _“Nevermind! I’m awake. You’re awake. Let it lie.”_

Nodding, Octavius agrees, “If you insist.” He’s so tired, all he wants to do is sleep. Choking back a yawn, he begins drifting off while still on his feet.

Before he can fall over, he hears, _“Hey, Octopi! Rise and shine!"_

“Hmm?" He waves away the name like it's a particularly pesky gnat. "It’s...‘tavius…”

_“Yeah. Right. Okay. It ain’t exactly safe to be sawing logs just yet. Them Mayans have sneaky ways.”_

Octavius lifts a brow in inquiry. “Hmm?"

_“I said: I gotta hand it to you back there. Knew you were scrappy, but dang, son! You know how ta' handle yourself just fine. Suppose you weren't just blowing smoke. That was pretty brazen, goin’ off half-cocked, stormin’ El Castillo — that, that right there was a thing of beauty."_

"I refused to leave a man behind,” he proclaims, his words echoing. “At least, not voluntarily. They are all that I have." His eyes dart around the hall in displeasure. "Here. In this place."

Jedediah's expression turns solemn.

The ground trembles, and Jedediah jerks his chin toward the source of the commotion. _“Hey, Octy! Looks like you can go ahead and take that nap now. Go on, take a gander, machismo. The cavalry's arrived!”_

Indeed, enormous hooves gallop toward him. Octavius looks up, up, and _up_ until he’s fallen over on his back. Riding atop the chocolate-brown steed sits a familiar mustachioed rider whose brows are knit together in concern. Blue eyes. He had never noticed. Not as blue as Jedediah’s, though. Not as vivid or mesmerizing, somewhat faded with age. Before he loses consciousness, Octavius can’t help but think that Teddy bore one manly, glorious mustache.

Noting the sudden blush coloring Teddy’s face and his bashful, stammering words, Octavius realizes he may have murmured that last part out loud.

* * *

_Later..._

Night after night, it’s more of the same. Sometimes Octavius's army is halted mid-victory by the ferocious roar of that giant, hulking brute whom Jedediah has nicknamed _Skeletor_ , for reasons, apparently. Although, there _was_ a brief stint where he’d taken to calling the beast _Dad-gum-it-you’re-big_ for a fortnight, though. Octavius never quite understands Jedediah's compulsive need for pet names. All Octavius knows is that Jedediah still hasn't gotten his name right and it’s a habit Octavius finds most irksome.

Sometimes their battles are interrupted by a random nightwatchman of some sort running, screaming down the halls in terror, his pounding footsteps causing minor tremors within the dioramas. There are moments in time when the warring factions cease their fighting and stare in fascination when they hear the watchman bellow, attempting to quell whatever chaos is being done by the much larger beings outside their hall. (The nightwatchmen never stay long and their gigantic faces blur after a time.) The miniatures are overlooked for years, which suits them all down to the ground. Teddy still interrupts them occasionally, urging the two factions to get along or to offer up a report on his hunt for answers behind the strange happenings, but after a while even his visits lessen.

This evening finds Octavius and Jedediah trading blows.

“You call that a punch?” Jedediah says, exasperated, and bounces on his heels a little. “Ah, come on. You hit like a little girl.”

“Spare me your biting witticisms, you fool!”

“Aww, you’re so adorable when you get all good and riled up.”

“Thank you!" Octavius says, ducking a swing. "And I find you most amusing.”

“Aw, shucks. You really mean that?” Jedediah asks.

Octavius pauses a moment to catch his breath. “No,” he deadpans and slams his fist against Jedediah’s nose.

“Ow!” Jedediah shouts, staggers backward, hands cupping the bridge of his nose. “What in the Sam Hill are you playing at!" Disbelief flickers in his eyes. "Whatcha go and do that for? That was much harder!” His words come out as a whine.

Octavius smiles wide, teeth gleaming. “Who’s the child now?” He pauses only long enough to adjust his cock-eyed helmet when Jedediah scowls, bounces, shakes off the punch, and then with a shout, dives for Octavius’s armor-plated torso.

And then they are both yelling, Octavius as he is ridden to the ground, and Jedediah in aggravation.

They roll over and over each other.

Which is how they're found when a shadow falls over the Western diorama, with Octavius splayed — toppled beneath the weight of his adversary — who is straddling his waist.

They pause their combat to blink up at the mustachioed horseman.

“Good to see you boys are getting along so well.” Teddy says with a tip of his hat. He takes in their disheveled appearance and their heavy breathing. “Oh, my, you boys certainly don’t waste any time, do you?”

"Huh?" Jedediah asks eloquently. “I mean, what?”

Octavius continues blinking, readjusting his helmet that has fallen over his eyes.

He finally looks up to see Teddy nodding his approval, spurring his steed. “Carry on, men.”

Jedediah is the first to recover and leaps off Octavius as if burned. “Dad-gum it! Come back here! It ain’t what it looks like!”

Octavius grins in delight, all teeth. Shoulders shaking, he echoes an earlier sentiment from one of his battles with Jedediah in merriment. He can’t help himself; the deeply reckless words flow from his mouth. “Come now, Jedediah. Take it like a man,” he goads.

Their eyes hold for a long time; Jedediah's mouth works, but no words escape. It has to be a first; Octavius informs him of this fact.

Jedediah stands over Octavius for a moment, blue eyes wide. He tries to speak. Stops. Tries again. Stops.

“Yes, love?”

Jedediah blusters for a few seconds more. Finally, he manages to point his finger at Octavius. “I can’t believe you!”

“Believe it, darling.”

A deep blush blooms across Jedediah's cheeks, coloring his skin all the way down his neck. “Dagnabit! That’s it, you sneaky, underhanded...” he says, but trails off, kicking up dirt. “This ain’t over! Come here! When I'm done with you, there won't be enough left of ya to snore.”

And with that, Jedediah is on him again.

Chest heaving, Octavius chortles, wriggling, and raises his arms in a half-hearted attempt to shield himself.

The night rings with Octavius’s victorious, albeit wheezing, laughter.

His triumph is so glorious that it doesn’t even matter when Jedediah deliberately calls him by the wrong name.


	3. Bushwhacked

_Later…_

Sometimes Octavius and Jedediah’s fights get out of hand.

Octavius comes up from his kneeling position and tackles Jedediah, driving him off his feet as they both crash to the ground in a heap of tangled, squirming limbs.

Yelling, they grapple, each attempting to gain the upper hand. Dust flies as they roll over each other.

The pair are so engrossed in their battle they don't even notice when dirt morphs into cold stone, and they roll out of the Old West.

 _“Uhff!”_ Jedediah says, wheezing a little, as they land on the floor with a hard thwack. He’s taken the brunt of the impact, Octavius landing on top of him. He stares wordlessly up at the ceiling in shock.

“Are you alright?” Octavius asks, raising up on his elbows, and readjusting his helmet, worry creeping into his tone.

“Yeah,” Jedediah says with a hitch, nodding. “Just gimme a minute."

Octavius nods. "Take your time."

"Phew!" Jedediah says, coughs, finally managing to blow out a breath. His eyes flicker after a beat. "You doin' okay there, hoss?”

Octavius mulls over the question, nods. "Yes. Quite."

Absently, Jedediah shifts, bracketing Octavius’s hips with his knees. He cranes his neck, squinting up at the edge of where they'd fallen off in wonder. “Criminently! Didja see how high we fell?” He lifts his hand from Octavius’s shoulder, waving an arm in the air. “That’s gotta be a good seventy-five or so feet!"

Octavius turns his head to calculate the distance for himself; he peers back around. “Thirty,” he says, not as impressed. Then again, this isn’t the first time he’s fallen out of a diorama.

"Sakes alive! You'd think a fella would have a hitch in his giddy-up after a tumble like that one. Whoo-whee!" Jedediah exclaims.

Octavius shakes his head. "I have no idea what you just said."

And yet when Jedediah grins up at him, he grins back.

“Hell’s fire! That right there, son, that’s what I call a bronco buster!” He holds a gloved palm to his head, humor prevalent in his eyes. “By gum! I think ya just broke me in, good and proper,” he says, laughing.

Mouth twitching, Octavius fights his amusement over Jedediah’s constant nonsensical phrases or the way the skin around his eyes crinkles up. He finds he can’t. His grin stretches into a smile, and he laughs. “Want to climb to the top and toss ourselves off the edge again?”

“Hell, yeah! Only this time, I get 'ta ride you!”

They howl with laughter.

After a beat, they smile, holding their pose, allowing the other to calm down and catch his breath again.

"Ain’t so powerless now, are we, amigo?”

“Powerless? I don’t understand. What are you talking about?"

"Them." Jedediah jerks his chin past their hallway. “The others. I’d like to see one of them larger folks take a spill like that and come out of it half as well put-together," He says, tone suddenly bitter. "Be like crackin' an egg. Humpty Dumpty-style." Exhaling, he shakes his head with a shudder. "I don't like feeling powerless, MacTavish."

Octavius ignores the mispronunciation of his name, instead focusing on how Jedediah’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he swallows. Thinking that this moment is somehow important, Octavius squints at the brief flicker of sadness reflected in Jedediah's eyes.

“We are each strong in our own ways," he finally manages. “If you are referring to our size, or lack thereof, it is a mere triviality, a state of mind. Do not let yourself dwell upon it. You are fierce. You are brave. You are strong. You are mighty.”

Jedediah smiles, eyes darting away, sliding back to the ceiling. “Right back atcha, toga boy.”

Octavius’s expression softens at the bonding moment. His gaze flicks over Jedediah's face, takes in the hint of blond stubble dusting across his jaw and upper lip. For a moment his heart swells, breath catching when his focus shifts to Jedediah’s parted lips.

His fingers twitch.

He’s right on the verge of leaning forward when he stops, wondering precisely what he thinks he's doing, and pulls away.

The motion is enough to break Jedediah out of his communion with the ceiling, and he drags his gaze back with a squint.

Brows knit in confusion. Smiles transform into mirrored grimaces of remembered dislike as they glare in narrowed-eyed suspicion.

With twin battle cries echoing down the hallway, they resume fighting, rolling over each other.

* * *

_Later…_

“What’s wrong with you Roman boys anyways?” Jedediah asks as they circle each other. “Here you are, come blowin’ into town night after night, full of juice. Stirrin' up a stink, causin’ a ruckus, frightenin' our horses, upsetting the womenfolk —"

"Those so-called womenfolk whack us over the head with parasols!" Octavius interrupts. "Nightly."

"Well, that’s only ‘cause you started it, ya big baby! But I’ll give you credit, Octogenarian, your fighting skills are getting a darn sight better.”

“It’s Octavius,” he says with a sniff. “Relish your little victories, heathen. I’m gaining perspective, you realize,” he boasts. “You're exposing your strategy and limiting your options. I’m intentionally losing battles to win the war!”

Jedediah bends at the waist, hands on his knees and breathing heavy, but at that remark, he lifts his arms in frustration. Rolling his head with a squint — one of his favorite moves, Octavius observes, for they have been doing this for quite some time — he huffs out, arms wide. _“What war?”_

Even Octavius has to pause a moment at that question, because he really doesn't know anymore. This is simply what they do.

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius and his men stand in formation outside the Old West diorama, shielding themselves as rocks rain down upon their heads.

“Will you stop doing that?” Octavius shouts, lowering his arm.

_"Go home, Octo-boy!”_

"It's Octavius," Octavius corrects automatically.

 _“I said: Git!”_ Jedediah jerks his chin toward the Roman diorama. _“Go on! Shoo!"_

Octavius ducks when a rock is hurled in his direction. The stone misses him, but clangs off Marcus’s helmet, knocking him to the ground instead.

_“Ack!"_

Octavius shakes his head, hands on hips.

“I hate that rock.”

He bends down with a sigh, bothered that his men may become discouraged by the cowboys’ continued resistance. Picking up the stone, he brightens, and whirls around, holding it up to his men in tribute.

“I claim this rock in the name of Rome!"

His army lifts their fists in celebration. They jeer up at the cowboys, beating their shields with their swords.

Confused murmurs ripple through the cowboy’s ranks, leaving them scratching their heads. A filthy, gap-toothed cowboy scratches at his neck with a long blade, eyeing the Romans warily.

Every pair of western eyes are trained on Octavius and his army. As one, the cowboys slide their eyes toward Jedediah, each looking for insight.

Gripping his belt, Jedediah peers back at his men, shakes his head at them in silent communication, and shrugs. _"Beats the heck outta me, fellas. They all gotta screw loose, I reckon."_

The cowboys murmur, bobbing their heads up and down, conferring with one another in agreement.

Meanwhile, Octavius turns, clasps Marcus’s elbow and pulls him to his feet. He claps him encouragingly on the shoulder, murmuring in his ear. "Good show, old man."

Nodding, Marcus pulls back, staggers drunkenly, but manages to salute. "My liege."

Octavius takes a deep breath, puffing out his chest. With an arrogant lift of his chin, he drags his attention back to the cowboys. “You will not stop us by such childish means. Roman knees do not bend so easily!”

 _“That ain’t what yer wife said last night!”_ a voice snickers from behind Jedediah.

 _“Silas! Shush! I got this!”_ Jedediah whisper-shouts, wedging himself between the cowboys above and the Romans below, but the damage is done.

Octavius stands, stunned mute, and blinks. Come to think of it, he may have had a wife. Two of them. No. Three. Not at the same time. One of them may have died, but he can’t recall how. Childbirth, perhaps.

And then he remembers.

He’s a father.

Octavius feels the pull of history, and imagines the patter of tiny, bare feet upon cobbled stones, as a child totters toward him. He feels phantom arms wrap around his thigh in a hug. Squeezing his eyes shut, he cannot bear it.

_"Daddy..."_

Octavius’s eyes snap open and he peers down into wide, soulful brown eyes. The sweetest-faced child he has ever seen smiles back up at him, bouncing a little, arms outstretched, wanting to be held. The face is framed by a mop of dark curls. He reaches out his hand, but the apparition dissipates.

He can’t breathe. His chest hurts and his throat constricts.

Octavius whips around frantically. His family — he seems to have misplaced them — knowing for certain they are not housed in the Roman diorama.

History's pull is too great and he's barreled under as wave after wave of memories topple him. He remembers the things he's done, the actions he's taken — many things — both great and terrible.

Octavius jerks as the images in his head rear up to overwhelm him.

He's not vicious, and yet he has been. Octavius is not that man, and yet he is. He rebels.

The night passes by in a blur. Somehow, he's climbed up to the Old West diorama, like a man possessed, on a single-minded mission to pummel the man named Silas. He thrashes the man, laying siege to him as though he’s the root of all suffering, the living embodiment of every misery in the world — the reason why Octavius is here and not where he should be — _because he remembers._

Arms grab him, attempting to pull him from the fellow, but he will have none of it. He screams, bites, claws, kicks, butts his head back, utilizes his knees and elbows for maximum damage, lashing out at anyone who dares pry him from the recipient of his wrath.

His next clear recollection is of being hog-tied. His lips peel back in a snarl. He jerks at the ropes.

"Easy, easy," someone says.

A gloved hand tentatively touches his arm. He wrenches away fiercely, eyes blazing, and hisses in his own tongue.

He’s answered in classical Latin.

It is strange. Different. Not the true Latin he remembers.

Octavius had been spitting out Colloquial — Vulgar — Latin, the speech of the masses, not the words spoken by the educated and highborn, but he could make out enough of the unsure, halting words to understand their meaning.

And wonders of all wonders, the words had been spoken by Jedediah. His reply is such a surprise that it brings Octavius up short, snapping him back to the present.

He blinks.

"You spoke in the mother tongue."

Jedediah rubs at the back of his neck, shrugs, and nods. "Been trying 'ta tell ya I ain't no dummy. I been ‘ta school and everything, Octogram. I've got an education."

“Are you being serious right now? Are you joking?”

Jedediah huffs out a breath, and dips his head in a self-deprecating gesture. "Nope.” He lifts his chin. “I got plenty of, oh, what do ya call ‘em, again —” he waves a gloved hand, as though trying to pull the word from the air — “them whatchamacallits — brains. I got brains," he says with a sniff. "Been keepin’ 'em right here in my back pocket." He pats his rump.

Octavius raises his eyebrows, and snorts. “Buffoon,” he mumbles, turning his head away, and hiding his first traces of amusement since the night began.

“There ya are! I saw that!” Jedediah shouts, and crouches forward. “Ain’t no hiding that look. You’re back.” He slaps his thigh. “Finally!”

Octavius scrunches up his face. “Where did I go?”

Jedediah shrugs. “Beats me. You just went, is all.” He sits heavily beside Octavius with a grunt, drawing his knees up to his chest. His head tilts, considering. “You like it when I crack wise, don’t ya?”

Octavius lifts his chin, defiant, but his mouth betrays him, quirking up ever so slightly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have yet to hear a wise word escape past your lips.”

Jedediah grins, huffs. “Ho, boy! I got ya now, son. Dead to rights. I know your secret shame. Admit it. You find me amusin’.”

Octavius sighs explosively, turns his face away, and lays his head back down.

“Oh, come on!” Jedediah says, and smacks Octavius’s arm with the back of his hand. “Gimme something. I’m funny. Admit it.”

Octavius peers back around with a scowl.

Jedediah waves his hand. “Fine, fine. Be that way. God, you’re crabby tonight.” He exhales. “And ‘ta answer your question, I can speak Latin. At least, I can get by in a pinch. Can’t read it to save my life, though. So don’t be askin’. Ain’t happening, kemosabe.”

More vile images from Octavius’s past assail him, and he snaps his eyes shut.

"Hey, you alright?”

“Glorious,” Octavius says through clenched teeth.

"Wanna tell me why you put the thump on Silas?"

Octavius lifts his chin, glares. "That is none of your concern."

"Alrighty,” Jedediah says softly, raising his gloved hands in surrender. “Fair enough, I reckon. It’s just...he ain’t a bad egg, Ol’ Silas. Just ornery."

Octavius watches him silently; his eyes narrow, suddenly noticing Jedediah’s disheveled appearance, his split lip. “What happened to you?”

Jedediah sits back, frowns, touches the corner of his mouth, and dabs at it with his gloved fingers. He stares down at a spot of dried blood, rubs his thumb.

Eventually, Jedediah shrugs. “Tangled with a wildcat. I lost.”

Octavius feels uneasy for a moment, eyeing Jedediah speculatively. He clenches his jaw, and swallows. “May I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you being kind to me?”

Jedediah watches him with incredulity. “You think finding yourself hog-tied every night is my way of being neighborly?” He snorts. “You’re one odd fish, you know that, Tavarious?”

Octavius ignores the name. “No, no. Please. Do not be obtuse.”

Memories rear up behind his eyes, threatening to overwhelm him again. Octavius sets his jaw. He will not cry in front of this man; he will not.

“Hey. Come on. I ain’t funning ya now. Are you alright?”

Octavius shakes his head, clamps his teeth together. “No.”

Jedediah looks at him.

There’s genuine concern flickering in his blue eyes. He leans forward to offer a hesitant hand. “Where does it hurt?”

“Do not touch me!” Octavius flinches back, jerking against his restraints. “You know nothing of who I really am. The things I’ve done!”

Jedediah watches him now, simply watches him. He shoots Octavius a small smile, turns his attention away.

After a beat, he hums. “I suppose ya got me there, hoss. But, then again, you know nothing ‘bout me either. It don’t stop any of you boys from invading our land.”

They stay silent for a long time, each staring at the other.

In fact, they stare so long, it becomes something of a contest of who will look away first, and Octavius begins to wonder who it will be, when the images from his past twirl behind his eyes again.

He whimpers, and, more than anything, he wants to go home.

“I could rectify that, you know,” Jedediah offers, licks his lips. “If you’re willing, that is. At least for tonight.”

“Rectify what?” Octavius says through gritted teeth.

“The part about getting 'ta know me. To take your mind off whatever ails ya.”

Jedediah scoots forward.

Octavius tenses against his restraints, uncertain.

Holding up his hands, palms out, Jedediah soothes, “Whoa, now. Easy, easy. Don’t go headbuttin’ me again.” He blows out a breath. “I know you’re hurtin’, but dang, son. You got my word. Ol’ Jedediah ain’t touchin’ ya if you don’t want 'ta be touched, ya hear?”

Octavius, still wary, agrees. “Alright.”

Jedediah blinks at the easy acquiescence, squints his eyes in suspicion, but then nods. “Well, alrighty, then.”

With that, Jedediah slowly inches up onto his knees, palms an old, weather beaten journal from his back pocket, and holds it up between his gloved fingers.

“Story of my life. Well, it’s more a story about my journeys,” he concedes, and plops back down on his rump with a groan. “I always keep it handy, so I remember.” He thumbs through several pages. “Nope. Not that one.” He continues thumbing. “Nope, not that one either.”

Finally he comes to a page that interests him. He wiggles into a more comfortable position, sitting cross-legged, and settling in. “This here’s a good one.”

Jedediah clears his throat and begins reading.

The stories are intelligent and well-written, weaving an intricate tapestry as he goes, painting vibrant portraits of places Octavius has never been, wonders he’s never seen — of Jedediah getting into a fistfight with a bear (not the brightest move) — of taming an injured, starving wolf to nibble gently from his hand (the very best move) — of watching buffalos tromping across the Plains (the most peaceful move) — of exploring a vast and untamed wilderness (the most exciting move) — of golden sunrises and blazing sunsets — of an untouched landscape, wild and free.

Octavius relaxes in stages and the pull of his own history ceases to hold sway. Jedediah’s low, lazy drawl cuts through memories of the past, vanquishing the shadows, keeping him grounded him in the here and now, and finally lulling him to sleep before the rising of the sun.

Sometimes, he thinks in another life they could have been friends.

* * *

_Later…_

There are nights when the Romans stay in their own exhibit to perform marching, formation, and physical training exercises. This leaves the cowboys free to indulge their own pursuits, such as getting down to the business of railroad-building. These nights seem lonely for everyone.

For Octavius, this is fairly difficult to ignore, especially when he finds himself lassoed by an impressionable centurion or hears one of his musically-inclined soldiers plucking out a Romanized version of _“Oh Susanna”_ on his testudo during a break. He still doesn’t know what he’s supposed to think about this; at least it’s a good deal better than _“Camptown Races”_ as this ballad makes sense. Then, of course, there are the dueling banjos. He would rather not contemplate the dueling banjos, so he doesn’t. They do not exist.

It's even harder to ignore the sight of Stetsons, or the odd bonnet or two, that he catches glimpses of peeking over the edge of the Roman diorama during the army’s weapons training. These observers never attack, but simply watch in wide-eyed fascination, so Octavius (and, by edict, his sentinels) lets these stragglers be. In his mind, they do not exist either. However, during those times, he straightens his shoulders and looks on his men with pride for they are in fine form.

On this particular night, Octavius strides toward his quarters, apple in hand, and humming out a tune when Felix bounds up toward him, proudly holding a shiny new helmet in his hands. The young soldier speaks rapidly, practically bouncing up and down on his heels in excitement. Felix has been despondent, having been without his headgear for weeks until he decided to do something about it. Somewhere, a cowboy is trotting around, sporting a Roman helmet. The uncouth barbarian claimed it as his own and refused to return it even when Felix asked for it back nicely.

A bright side to the whole affair is that without the helmet weighing down his head, Felix's dark hair has begun growing out rapidly into a tousled mop, curling at the tips. The look is appealing. Octavius thinks it could catch on.

Lifting the new headgear in a one-handed grip, he admires the weight and feel of it. The attention to detail with the brass trim and decorative bosses is quite exquisite. He’s about to praise Felix on his fine masterpiece when he hears a commotion and a sentinel frantically waves him over to the edge of the diorama. Octavius’s brows knit together and he jogs over, Felix at his heels.

The centurion crouches low, pointing his spear to the ground. Octavius peers over the edge.

The Mayans and the cowboys are having a free-for-all. Mayans are jumping cowboys. Cowboys are braining Mayans with shovels. One ingenious female has hooked her parasol around a warrior’s neck and slams him into the wall of the diorama. Another female dressed as a cowboy, her hair in pigtails, elbows a Mayan in the mouth. She pivots and swings a frying pan into his face. Another female knees a Mayan in the groin, shouting, _“We’ve been bushwhacked, fellas!”_

A warrior inhales mightily and lifts a blowpipe to his mouth. The dart sails straight and true, but it’s snatched from the air by a Chinese worker who manifests out of nowhere. That worker is followed by another leaping out from the Old West diorama, then another and another. The first man charges the Mayan, springs from the ground, wraps his legs around the warrior’s neck, and pulls him off balance to flip him onto his back.

The others rain down kicks as more warriors surge forward, weapons raised above their heads, but the Chinese railroad workers block the Mayans’ obsidian-bladed clubs, and spin and slam several warriors against the wall. They follow their defensive maneuvers with quick, snapping kicks, spinning out with their legs to shove more Mayans back. Their movements are liquid, almost like dancing.

The Mayans aren’t without their resources; they have their darts and their slings. They are also kicking, punching, and slashing with their knives. Others are lifting up their bows, preparing to fell a good number of their adversaries.

Octavius catches movement to his right, and his eyes bulge, breath catching at the sight. A speckled steed dives out of the Old West, its rider shouting, _“Yeeee-haaaw!”_ all the way down. He is followed by several more riders echoing this sentiment, swinging their Stetsons around gleefully as they land safely on the ground.

Jedediah rounds on his men. _“Let’s get ‘em, boys!”_

Riders lift their lassos into the air, twirl the ropes above their heads, and with expert flicks of their wrists let them fly. The ropes encircle groups of warriors at a time. One cowboy jerks his arm back, and several warriors topple to the ground.

The cowboy deftly wraps the rope around his saddlehorn. _"Haaaw!"_ he shouts, spurring his horse forward, dragging the party behind him.

The remaining Mayans crowds around Jedediah, hands outstretched to pull him from his saddle. The steed, eyes wide, whips around nervously, as Jedediah lifts his leg, kicking the warriors away. Bracing himself, Jedediah allows his horse to rear up on its back legs. The action causes the steed to clip several charging Mayans with its hooves. The horse lands back down, and with Jedediah’s control of the reins, spins around sharply, bumping into more Mayans, knocking them to the ground with its hindquarters. The steed rears up again, and horse and rider gallop away to safety.

Felix gives a slow clap, shaking his head. The sentinel beats at his breastplate in appreciation.

Octavius catches himself smiling softly and quickly wipes the silly grin from his face with an arrogant lift of his chin. He darts a narrow-eyed look at his soldiers, and harrumphs at the shenanigans.

“Show off,” he declares with a dismissive wave, apple still in hand.

Felix bounces, gripping Octavius’s arm, pointing. “Look! Look, my liege! There’s my old helmet!”

Sure enough, a burly cowboy with a Roman helmet propels down from a rope and joins the fray. Bounding forward, he bends at the waist and lifts a warrior off his feet, thrusting him past his shoulder when the Mayan makes a dive for him. He sweeps the leg of another and sucker punches the next one.

Felix pumps his fist. “Yes!”

The Mayans retreat.

The townsfolk cheer, many tossing their hats into the air. A band, dressed in red uniforms, begins belting out a triumphant tune with their instruments back up in the Old West.

 _"It’s hog-killin’ time, fellas!"_ a female shouts.

The cowboys hoot and holler.

And with that, the townsfolk hurriedly grab a partner, gathering into groups of four, forming separate squares. They find their rhythm skipping, twirling, and bouncing about. Others clap their hands and stomp their feet in time to the music.

Octavius rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Although, he admits that the entire spectacle is informative. He’s never really seen the townsfolk fight all the way through as he’s usually too busy being hog-tied or sparring with Jedediah. Now he knows the reason the cowboys nearly always win their battles. They are all insane. He decides he will use this bit of insight during their next campaign.

He’s about to turn away, dismissing the entire engagement when he spies an enterprising Mayan crouching, sneaking up on the townspeople guerilla-style beneath the Roman diorama. Octavius tracks the fellow's movements slowly, carefully, silently mirroring his path. The warrior stops, loads his blowpipe, and takes careful aim.

Octavius follows the weapon’s trajectory with his eyes. Finds it. Sometime during the melee, Jedediah separated himself from the cheering, whooping townsfolk, unwittingly leaving himself open, exposed, vulnerable, and oblivious to the danger. He recalls Jedediah’s words during Octavius’s drug-induced stupor, about the kinds of practices the Mayans engage in.

The Mayan slowly inhales.

Octavius scowls and then lifts the helmet still in his other hand, studying it carefully. “This really is a beautiful piece, Felix. You should be proud. Lovely, fine craftsmanship.” He raises the helmet higher, bouncing it a little, gauging its heftiness. “A good weight to it.”

He allows the helmet to roll from his grasp.

“No!” Felix screams and dives forward, landing on his knees.

The helmet clangs off the Mayan’s head, knocking him unconscious.

“Oops,” Octavius says with an air of indifference, and leans forward. With a satisfied nod, he says, “Hmm. Sturdily built, too, I see. You should be proud of your handiwork. It truly is quite impressive.” He takes a bite from his apple and tosses it over the side. The apple lands on the warrior’s solar plexus.

The Mayan groans.

Octavius closes his eyes, pausing long enough to relish the sound, and then he straightens his shoulders, feeling like he’s now gotten a bit back for him and his men from _“That Time of Which We Do Not Speak.”_

“Let that be a lesson to you,” he declares to the Mayan beneath his breath.

Poor Tiberius and Marcus were closer than brothers and yet they are still having difficulty looking each other in the eyes without shying away in embarrassment, as do some of the others in his army.

He claps Felix on the shoulder, a consoling gesture. “There, there. There will be other helmets. Grander helmets, I assure you.” And with that, he turns on his heel, hustling the sentinel away with him, giving Felix privacy to mourn his loss as the band plays on.

Resuming his path to his quarters, he picks up Felix’s perturbed yelling over the side of the diorama. “Hey! You! Don’t you do it, Bill! By the gods, I’m warning you! Don’t make me come down there! Bill! You bring that back, you great, thieving, greedy, hulking western brute! Come now! This one doesn’t even fit your head right!”

_“That’s ‘cause it’s got a big dent in it!”_

“What!" Felix screeches. "Your head...or my new helmet?”

_“...It’s a toss up!”_


	4. Laying Down the Law

_Later…_

Hand cupping one elbow, and with the other hand lifted to his chin, Octavius stands staring in thought. He raises one eyebrow in annoyance.

* * *

_Later…_

Despite his best glare, the gargantuan bench still mocks him from the middle of the hallway seven days later. 

It is shiny and brand new. 

He stares at it a bit longer, still irritated by the modification to his environment. It’s not so much the new scenery that upsets him — even if he _is_ of the opinion that the bench is atrocious — it isn’t even the change, for Octavius knows change is vital to an ever-expanding and healthy culture. What he finds most irksome is that the alteration occurred sometime during the daylight hours when he couldn’t supervise the bench's placement. The bulky, beastly thing blocks his view of the Mayans, and that distresses him. He likes the tactical advantage of seeing threats coming for him and his people. The bench makes such a strategy impossible.

Sighing, he grudgingly accepts this new obstacle because the weight of his scowl still hasn't moved the blasted eyesore nary a jot. So he slides his gaze toward his men instead. 

The Roman army is restless. Forlorn. Antsy. He sees it in the curves of their shoulders and the way they gaze longingly down to the floor where the members of the Old West are still whooping it up after holding off the Mayan war party. 

Several days have passed since those witnessed events, but each night, the cowboys awaken and climb down to enjoy the extended festivities.

It’s like a floodgate has opened. No longer content with building their railroad, the members of the Old West are actively leaving their own diorama and wandering about. Some are dancing. Others are passed out, drunk. Octavius has been called over several times this evening alone, each time by one of his sentinels, to witness brawls breaking out between various western factions. 

Octavius brightens as yet another fight erupts among the throng. Sometime during the evening, the cowboys lowered a table and several chairs down so that a group of them could play some sort of card game. One cowboy accuses another of cheating, and the table overturns in the scuffle. 

Octavius watches as even more cowboys launch themselves at each other. 

It appears that with this newfound freedom the cowboys discovered outside their diorama, Jedediah lost control over his people. 

Octavius’s grin stretches into a full-blown smile of triumph as the chaos continues unfolding before him. He might have even rocked back and forth on his heels a little in glee. 

His first assessment of this culture was an accurate one. He relishes being proven right. The western people are barbarians, all of them. Even with someone of such a strong personality like Jedediah being their leader, they simply cannot hold back their true natures. He does not need to conquer them. All he has to do is stand back and wait for the members of the Old West to conquer themselves — watch as their culture crumbles, collapsing in on itself. 

Octavius is a very patient man when he chooses to be, and he can wait. He will order his men to do likewise. It will be an exercise in discipline.

From the corner of his eye, he spies Jedediah sitting astride his speckled mount. Octavius can just make out horse and rider from his position. 

Wary of falling out of yet another diorama, Octavius uses caution and good sense. Instead, he peeks around the side of his own diorama gingerly. 

Head down, Jedediah appears to be the only one left, deciding to remain in the relative safety of his diorama. Dejected, his shoulders are slumped. 

Octavius finds the defeated posture odd, as well as Jedediah’s silence. That man is never silent. Octavius has almost convinced himself — no, he is absolutely certain of it — that Jedediah talks in his sleep when — _if_ — he sleeps, that is. 

The situation and the pitiful, forlorn portrait Jedediah creates is all too entertaining, and Octavius cannot help but gloat. All teeth now, he smiles over at his adversary, ready to offer a mocking wave for Jedediah's trouble. 

He suffers a jolt when Jedediah jerks his horse in Octavius’s direction and they eye one another from across their dioramas.

Time stands still, and the world stops spinning on its axis.

Octavius slowly loses his mocking smile. 

Instantly, he whips his head back toward the chaos before him, and then slides his gaze back over in confusion. 

The man’s eyes are hazel. 

Classically handsome, sturdily built, broad chest, richly tanned skin, and with an appealing stubble, the man looking back at him is a fine specimen of masculinity. He's practically an Adonis. His face is even framed by a mane of fine, golden brown hair. 

Tilting his head with a squint, Octavius can only stare before a cold knot of dread forms in the pit of his stomach.

Something is not right; in fact, something is very definitely wrong.

Octavius takes one more look at the chaos below him, intently searching for the familiar mop of tousled, blond hair. He can't find it. With another jolt, he realizes Jedediah isn’t anywhere Octavius’s eyes can reach. He’s not amongst the brawlers, passed out in a heap, milling about, or dancing. Octavius realizes, belatedly, he hasn't seen or heard a peep out of Jedediah in quite a while. 

Casting his gaze back up, he glares accusingly at the interloper.

There is no mistaking Jedediah’s steed with its unique markings. Nor is there mistaking Jedediah’s black hat with its wide, flat brim, and tall, rounded crown and simply-done decorative brown braids wrapped around its base. 

Only, Silas is the one wearing it.

The mere sight of Silas's handsome face is enough to provoke Octavius into an uncharacteristic show of temper on a good day. He's never forgiven the man for triggering memories that should have remained buried, and whose words caused him to lose such horrendous control over himself in front of his army — and worse — in front of his adversary and his men. 

Octavius’s face contorts into a grimace. With a snarl, he darts forward and dives out of his own diorama to land on his feet in a crouch.

The cowboys are too engrossed in their own petty grievances to notice him, and it’s the work of a moment to climb up into the Old West. 

Apprehension freezes Silas where he sits, and worry flashes in his eyes before he lifts his chin and grins.

"Great Caesar’s ghost!" Silas finally exclaims. "Well if it ain't the revered boss of the _Hornet's Nest Gang._ Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes! Where y’all been? It’s been boring ‘round here."

Octavius assesses Silas, measuring him up, searching for weaknesses. His judgment is quickly made. Octavius finds the man lacking; he scowls, his gaze flat, deadpan.

"Your face looks like it could pucker a hog’s ass. Who yanked yer tail?"

Silas’s voice is loud and twangy. Octavius would daresay it is grating. There’s a distinct whine to the way Silas talks, whereas Jedediah’s low, slow drawl is like warmed honey. Unless he’s aggravated, that is, which is often.

"That hat does not belong to you," Octavius says simply.

Silas frowns. "Is that right?"

"Where is your leader?" Octavius asks. 

Silas shrugs, manner nonchalant. "I reckon yer lookin’ at ‘em."

Octavius takes a step forward, and huffs. He knows the man's lying, but is willing to play along to get the answers he seeks. 

"You wish me to believe that you are the leader of this..." His gaze flicks over to the brawling cowboys, and then slides his eyes back up in challenge. "...rabble?" 

The comment offends Silas if his stiffened shoulders are any indication. "Well, if that don’t beat all. You’re bein’ mighty blunt, aincha?" 

Octavius takes another step forward. "All this time, and you’ve been the leader here? Then, pray, who has kept your people in line for so long? Where is he? Who have I been sparring with?"

"Don’t know. I never watch who you fight. I always wind up fightin’ Titus." Snorting, Silas leans over to spit unattractively on the ground.

Octavius backs up a step in distaste, arms flung wide. Scowling, he slides his eyes back to Silas at the offense. 

"Careful, slick. Yer face is gonna get stuck that way. It’s like you been suckin’ on somethin’ sour."

Octavius ignores the jibe. "If you are the leader, then you should have been fighting _me._ I commend you for allowing commoners to fight your battles for you. You are a _brave_ man, indeed," he says disdainfully. "Where is Jedediah?"

"Now just hold on. I don’t hear so good since you went and boogered me up. Names ending in ‘-iah, ya say? Don’t know which one you’re referring to. There are loads of them _‘Iah’s_ here." He counts them off. "Obadiah, Zachariah, Isaiah, Uriah, Zechariah, (we call that one, Zeke, so’s there’s no confusion), and Jeremiah. And I suppose Elijah counts. Oh, and Malachiah...nope, wait, that's just plain Ol' Malachi, never mind." He hums to himself. "You have to describe which one ya want." 

Octavius takes another step forward, but this time, without malice. 

"A pair of alluring blue eyes, an appealing smile, and a thick mop of blond hair that fingers could get lost in. His name is Jedediah. Has more energy and enthusiasm than he has sense. Opinionated. Intelligent. Stubborn. Indomitable."

Silas rolls his shoulders with a laugh. "That one right there sounds plumb full of piss and vinegar, ‘ta me! A real spitfire!" He dips his head, grinning wide. 

The man is gifted with a pair of fine dimples, _blast him!_

Silas shakes his head. "Hot damn! Sounds like a dang handful ya got there, son! I could get behind somma _that!"_ He tilts his head. "He got a sister?"

Octavius lifts his chin, hands on hips. He says nothing. The more he thinks about it, though, the more the man’s words grate on him. He can tell by Silas's posture and mocking words that he's being toyed with. No more. His eyes narrow to slits, and he speaks his mind.

"Mind your vulgar tongue, heathen."

"Just trying to be friendly, amigo. Male bondin’, and all that. I heard tell it’s like chicken noodle soup fer the soul." When Octavius’s only response is to glare up at him, Silas sighs with a shrug. "Sounds like you been fightin’ with phantoms."

"Phantoms do not bind you with ropes. Nor do they deliberately mispronounce your name." 

"How many phantoms d’ya know, slick?"

"Plenty." And with that, Octavius takes a step forward. "I warn you, I am not a man to be trifled with."

"Don't I know it!"

"Then I’ll only ask you one more time. Where is Jedediah?"

"I’m tellin’ ya. There ain’t nobody 'round these parts that answers to that name. But that ain’t what's important right now. What’s important is that we got us matters to discuss, you and I. See, the thang is, I gotta get somethin’ offa my chest." Silas leans forward in the saddle, and rubs at the side of his mouth. "You know my jaw ain’t worked right since you clobbered me?"

Eyes hard, jaw set, Octavius lifts his chin. "Is that so?"

"I think deep down in your old Roman heart you’re sorry for whatcha done ‘ta me. That's what I think. What do you think, slick?"

"I think you have a fine patrician nose. I shall delight in breaking it."

So he does.

Darting forward, he launches himself into the air with a pounce, slamming his body into Silas’s, and felling the man off Jedediah’s horse. They go down in a tangle of limbs.

* * *

_Later…_

"Gaaah! Are you outta your rabid-assed mind? What in _the hell_ is the matter with you? Whatcha go and do a thing like that for!" Silas whines, holding his bleeding nose. 

They are both breathing heavily. Octavius might feel — no, he will _not feel_ — a smidge guilty for headbutting the man. 

"It was a knee-jerk reaction brought on by your continual provocations," he defends himself with an arrogant lift of his chin.

Silas starts blubbering, and now Octavius looks away and really does feel guilty — both from before when he clobbered the man in a blind rage and now. Uncertain where to look or what to do, he begins to pace.

"Why! Why ya gotta be so mean? Yer as ornery as a mama bear with a sore teat! Jesus H. Christ! I was tryin’ to apologize for implyin’ yer wife’s a ho’, ya damn Roman! Now you can just slide, mister. I’m done being friendly, no matter what Ol’ Jed says. In fact, you can just kiss my lily white ass! You can suck it!"

Perking up a little at the mention of the shortened-down version of Jedediah’s name, Octavius says with a shake of his head, his tone glib, "I'd really rather not." He lifts his eyebrows. "I don't know where it's been."

"Huh?"

Octavius rounds on Silas. "Are you truly the leader here?"

Silas frowns, head tipped back to staunch the flow of blood. "Temporarily. Been filling in." He waves his hand at the chaos below. "Badly. They won't listen 'ta me."

"So Jedediah is your leader," Octavius prompts.

"Kinda."

Octavius’s mouth thins into a frustrated line, but genuine worry keeps his tone even, and his actions peaceful. He reminds himself that Silas isn’t bad, according to Jedediah. He’s just ornery. 

"I don’t understand. What do you mean by: _kinda?"_

Huffing, Silas shrugs. "Don’t know. He kinda just took over when we all woke up. We let him run the show ‘cause none of us wanted the job."

 _"That_ I can believe," Octavius mutters out of the side of his mouth. Hands on his hips, he asks, "Then where is he? Did you usurp him?"

"What?" Silas asks, still taking in big gulps of air. "I ain't been slurpin’ on nobody, ya dang fool! Do I look like a damn vampire? We ain’t got no blood-suckin’ fiends in these parts. Doe'cha know nothin’, boy?"

Octavius blinks in rapid succession at Silas’s reply, trying to decipher his meaning. He gives up with a shake of his head. Silently cursing the language barrier, he tries again. "Was he ousted? What do you barbarians do with your supplanted leaders?"

Silas shakes his head, uncomprehending.

"You are filling in for him, correct?"

"Hell if I know what I’m doin’, man. You boys’ve been makin' yourselves scarce, been staying put here lately. So I didn’t think there’d be any trouble. Been trying to impress a couple of them hellcats we call ladies, iffin you catch my meanin’. Now I got a dang uprisin’ on my hands and flying Romans punching me in the face, and kickin’ my ass. Why?" He flings his arms out wide. "I don’t know. I done learnt my lesson. Ol' Jed's done tolt me if I ever implied yer woman’s a ho’ again, and he found out — which, he would — he’d thump me upside the knot. So, fine. Yer wife’s a fine, upstandin’ woman. Ya happy now?"

"Ecstatic." 

_She hadn't been, but that’s neither here nor there._

"Good. Fine. Whatever." Silas slumps onto his back, spent. He blows out a breath, calming down. "I didn’t want ‘ta tell ya, cause I been tryin’ to keep my trap shut and not spout off at the mouth all the dang time. But I keep havin’ ideas! Anyways, I was afraid you boys would decide ‘ta attack us again since Jed's done left us for the wild blue." He exhales. "Ain’t nobody seen hide, nor hair of him since we sent them Mayan boys packin’ back home to their mamas."

Octavius stops pacing and whirls around. 

"He’s been missing since the Mayan invasion?" 

His eyes cut toward the Mayan diorama. He can see them better from this vantage point without the newly installed bench blocking his view. 

All is quiet. The Mayans appear calm and happy for once. Content. 

Appeased. 

"Oh..." He takes a step forward, tilts his head, stricken. "Oh, no..." 

If Jedediah has been missing for days…

Chest tightening, he feels sick.

Octavius can’t quite seem to believe it. _"No, no, no,"_ he says with a shake of his head.

And then, Octavius considers the brawls and the discontent he’s been witnessing with such megalomaniacal glee. It all makes a terrible, devastating kind of sense now. The chaos he’s been gloating over is no longer entertaining.

His throat constricts. Clenching his eyes shut in shame, he finds himself unable to catch his breath.

Despite their differences, Jedediah had been more than a worthy opponent. Octavius believes Jedediah may even have been a good man with a genuinely good heart — a heart that had no doubt been ripped from him. 

Octavius imagines the fear in those blue eyes, and the helplessness Jedediah must have felt as he fought his captors. He imagines Jedediah’s screams, and then the soft, choking, wet gurgly-sound, and the accompanying gasp, as the fight abruptly leaves him — those alluring blue eyes dulling as the light behind them fades. Imagines Jedediah going limp, and slack between his captors until they finally release him, and his body falls to the ground in a heap — irretrievably gone. 

He slumps to his knees, managing in a harsh whisper, "Oh, Jedediah…"

With a shuddery breath, Octavius snaps his eyes open. He would have found a way to stop it, even if it meant braving the steps of the Temple of Kukulcan again. If he'd known. 

He glares over at the gargantuan bench as grief and guilt war in his belly. 

Octavius berates himself. He should have taken more care, been more vigilant the night of the cowboys’ victory over the Mayans. He’d seen the stray warrior with his blowpipe, known he was there, and thought he’d managed to quietly take care of the problem. Only there must have been others nearby, lurking out of his line of sight, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

As much as he blames himself for his own carelessness, he curses Jedediah equally as much for remaining apart from the festivities. There was safety in numbers. 

Why had he separated himself? Why hadn’t he joined in on the celebration and danced with his companions?

Octavius stops this train of thought. There is no way to change what has already occurred, so he shouldn’t dwell, but he can’t help but feel that Jedediah never deserved to meet such an end. 

"You were a worthy adversary," he says with a sniff. "Farewell, my..." he pauses a moment, uncertain what to call Jedediah. "...my _friend."_ With that, he lowers his head out of respect and offers a Roman salute to the cowboys' fallen leader.

Lifting his chin, he considers for a moment. There is no hope of rescue at this juncture, but there _is_ the possibility of retrieval, of laying his opponent to rest properly in whatever custom was appropriate for Jedediah's culture as a peace offering. 

In his mind he calculates the odds of a successful campaign against the Mayan menace and to put an end to their reign of terror once and for all. He’s fought them before and very nearly lost — would have lost, if not for Teddy, and for Jedediah keeping him from losing consciousness — he sees that now — but his army is much stronger, more self-assured from sparring with the cowboys for years. Added to that is the thought of vengeance. 

There would be bloodshed.

His palms clench into fists.

Stiffening his spine, he glowers over at the primitive people, the new focus of his conquests.

Perhaps if the Romans and cowboys unified their forces…

"Whatchu all mopey for?" Silas asks, face tight with agony. "I’m the one who’s done been mo-lested. Look at me! I’m a mess!"

Octavius sighs. 

"Do be silent. My people honor our dead." His voice drops to a whisper, and he glances away. "Please. Show some respect."

Silas ignores him, in favor of whining. 

_"What_ am I gonna tell my friends?" He gasps, hazel eyes wide. "What am I gonna tell all my feminine callers? That I got pummeled by a dude in a dress _...twice?"_ He pauses his rant, and looks up at Octavius. "Wait. We lost one? Oh my God! I feel terrible! We're all for showin’ respect for our dead, too, but who up and got themselves fatalized? Was it Titus? Please say it weren’t Titus."

Octavius squints at Silas. 

"It was your leader."

"Ol' Jed? Ah, man, since when?" And then Silas stops, follows Octavius's train of thought, and shakes his head in sudden understanding. "Nah." He waves away the notion. "He ain’t _ded!"_

"But you said he’s been missing. For days," Octavius prompts. "Ever since the Mayan invasion."

Silas rolls his eyes. "I said nothing of the sort. Clean out yer ears, ya dang fool. I said: ain’t nobody seen him for days since we gave the Mayan boys a good whuppin’." He stabs his thumb past the entrance to the _Hall of Miniatures._ "He's hoofed it."

Octavius climbs to his feet. Relief floods him and the world begins spinning on its axis again. 

"You're certain?"

"I ain't certain of nuthin'. All I know is the man started muttering somethin’ about gettin' attacked by Comanches and big-assed grizzlies, and how he'd be havin' words with a few of them big folks. The darn fool even said he didn’t even believe in Manifest Destiny, and I don’t know what all else."

Octavius turns, taken aback. "He said that?"

"I know, right? Crazy talk. Anyways, he throws down this damn fine hat of his, and just stomps off. Said if the mustachioed rider wouldn’t give us any answers on what’s goin’ on ‘round here, then he was goin’ on an expedition and figure it out for his own damn self."

Whatever relief Octavius feels is banished, replaced by dread — and though he’d never admit it — fear. "But that's insane. There are monsters out there!"

Silas nods. "Don't I know it. But he was going on somethin' fierce. The boy got buck wild."

Thinking rapidly, Octavius puts two and two together, and closes his eyes again. He asks softly, "He’s remembering, isn’t he?"

"Huh?"

He approaches Silas. 

"He's reliving history, remembering events from his past. There's a pull to it. Here. In this place. When it grabs you, it drags you under. The Mayan attack must have triggered it."

"Sounds like you've been samplin' our 'shine, boy." Silas waves the notion away. "That's crazy."

"No more so than gigantic skeletons roaming the halls."

"Iffin you say so, slick."

"That must be the answer. Can you ever recall him behaving in such a manner before? When has he ever abandoned his responsibilities and left you and your people alone to fend for yourselves? When have you ever heard him denounce Manifest Destiny?" Octavius asks, already knowing the answers to his questions. 

_Never._

That is to his knowledge, and he should know, as he’s had decades with that exasperating man. He knows how Jedediah behaves, how he reacts. Knows he’s a responsible leader who would not leave his people behind. Or, would never leave his people if he were in his right mind, that is. 

He turns to Silas. "Think!"

"Well, now thatchu mention it..."

"And he’s been out there, alone, for days?" 

Octavius exhales explosively. 

When he'd felt the pull of his own history for the first time, he’d all but gone mad. He still feels it from time to time, but now it’s settled into only a slight tug, the barest niggling at the back of his mind. However, he’d had someone to anchor him to the present that first night, and because of it, the memories had only held sway for a few hours. Jedediah had been left alone to relive his past for going on a week. 

"By the gods..." He rounds on Silas again. "And none of you thought to go after him? Stop him?"

"Son, he’s a grown ass man. And I ain’t his mother!" Silas exhales. "’Sides, nobody tells Jed what to do. He just does it."

"Right." 

Octavius makes his decision. Face grim, he snatches Jedediah’s hat from Silas’s head. 

"Hey!"

"Thank you," he manages, and moves to Jedediah’s horse, who has stood calm and well-behaved throughout the entire kerfuffle. 

Octavius ghosts his fingers along the saddle. "How do I take this contraption off?"

"You’re undressin’ Jed’s horse? Why?" 

"Because the saddle is only big enough to allow for one rider. The horse —"

Silas interrupts, "Sweet Pea…"

Octavius stops. Turns. His fingers twitch. 

"Are you joking?"

Silas shakes his head. 

_"Unbelievable."_ Rolling his eyes, Octavius turns back to the saddle. "The steed must comfortably accommodate two riders."

"You’re bringin’ Ol’ Jed back?"

"I’m going to try."

With that, Octavius crouches, following the line of the leather strap from the saddle to the steed’s belly, and unbuckles the fastening, separating saddle from horse. 

He drops the saddle to the ground with a thud and a loud clang, stirring up dust.

Octavius grabs hold of the steed’s withers, and pushes off with a spring, propelling himself up. He swings his right leg up and over the rump of the horse. 

_"Good Lord, son!_ Ya dang near took my picture. A man oughta be wearin’ breeches, not them teeny, tiny skirts!"

"It isn’t a skirt. And I'm wearing undergarments to protect your delicate, western sensibilities." He cues the horse, squeezing the mount’s flank with his heels. "Now, I ride!"

The mount snorts its displeasure, ear twitching to the side in annoyance. 

He cues the steed again, hitching forward a little to prompt the mount forward. "I ride!"

Still nothing.

"It’s _giddy-up,_ ya dang fool!"

"What manner of command is this?" Octavius asks in a frustrated bellow. "I grow weary of your people’s nonsensical babble! Learn to speak properly! What does this command even mean, this, _giddy-up?"_

Sweet Pea lurches forward. 

Later, Octavius will never admit that he screamed, but he screams, clutching onto Jedediah’s hat and holding on to the blasted beast’s mane for dear life as the wind whirls, lifting up his paludamentum, as both he, and steed, dive out of the Old West.

The floor rises up to meet him, and everything slows to a crawl.

He breathes in a shocky breath as the sudden jolt ricochets through his body at the abrupt stop as the horse's hooves sticks the landing with a resounding clop.

 _"My liege! My liege!"_ he hears Tiberius shouting at the top of his lungs from the Roman diorama as Octavius is whisked away. _"Where are you going? What has happened?"_

He whips his head around to see Tiberius, Lucius, Marcus, and Felix all running after him until they reach the edge of their diorama, panic-stricken. Titus is not far behind.

He shouts back, "Restore order to the West!"

_"My liege?"_

He catches Tiberius and Marcus both looking askance at each other. Lucius flings his arms wide in confusion. Titus’s eyes widen in shock, and Felix whoops, lifting his arms as though in benediction. 

_"Praise all the gods! I’m coming for you, Bill!"_ Felix shouts, bounces, and charges headfirst out of the Roman diorama.

"If I'm not back by daybreak..."

Octavius pauses, thinks about it, and rounds back on his men. "Wait longer! In the meantime..." As Jedediah’s horse gallops on, full-tilt out of the _Hall of Miniatures,_ he commands again, "Restore order immediately!"


	5. Branded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real Jedediah Smith comes out to play. Octavius rises up as the one, true Emperor of Rome. Sparks fly as historic fact, (some fiction), and the Museum of Natural History’s version of events clash. Octavius and Jedediah square off in a battle like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Sometime in the ancient past, Mount Vesuvius erupts and will do so again. And Octavius takes the first action toward rebellion. Oh, and somewhere in all this, a grope of destiny may be involved.

_Later…_

Monsters.

Monkeys.

Mayhem.

Exotic creatures of all shapes and sizes roam loose. Metal men clang their way along, jumping back as a miniature Roman riding astride a speckled steed gallops along at a frantic clip, sparks flying from beneath the horse’s hooves.

Identical faceless soldiers of two rival factions — those in dark blue and gray — are fighting, stabbing, and shooting each other. Octavius ducks his head as a long- handled gun with a sword attached to the end of it is fired over top of him.

A gray uniformed soldier falls, clutching his chest.

Startled, Octavius rubs at his own armor-plated chest absently, finally witnessing what a gun — a working one— can do.

Sweet Pea is spooked by the falling behemoth and diverts course, jerking Octavius along for the ride.

Another soldier falls, and Sweet Pea rears with an angry snort, and shies violently away from the faceless giant.

Octavius braces himself until the horse’s hooves clop back down to the floor again.

"I’ll give you one thing, Hellbeast. You are a spirited mount."

As though understanding him, Sweet Pea snorts.

Another soldier falls and Sweet Pea’s muscles bunch as she gathers strength. And then she and Octavius are airborne, soaring, and bolting over the breast of the fallen soldier. Without missing a beat, she continues her mad dash until there is no more gigantic body to gallop over.

As though she has wings, she launches herself into the air, sticks the landing on the smooth floor, and continues galloping, straining at the bit to keep moving, dodging out of the way of the strange creatures, and running like a demon is chasing after her.

In this place, it seems, a demon just might be...

* * *

_Later…_

On they travel, Octavius sees many wonders — many things — both great and terrible.

Sweet Pea bolts down an immense staircase, and Octavius holds on tight to the reins as they make laps.

There is no sign of Jedediah, but Octavius keeps searching, refusing to accept defeat.

* * *

_Later…_

"Jedediah!" Octavius shouts, his hand outstretched, grinning wide in relief at finally locating him.

Jedediah whips his head around at the sound of his name.

"Wait for me!" Octavius shouts. Sweet Pea gallops past the entrance of the room. "Blasted beast," he mutters, and jerks the reins to guide the steed back around. Spooked by all the commotion in the hall, Sweet Pea overshoots the mark again, rears up, on her back legs, and Octavius hurriedly braces himself. Sweet Pea lands back down, and bolts in the opposite direction.

"I’m coming!" Octavius frowns, struggles, and then concedes with a shout, "Eventually!"

Octavius directs the horse back around again, and the steed enters the room where Jedediah stands, unmoving, beside a gigantic transparent glass prison on top of a black marble platform.

Looking up, up, and  _up_ , Octavius's gaze takes in the sight of two men and a single female.

At first glance, the woman appears to be Mayan. Her skin and hair are dark and rich, but her deeply brown eyes are too gentle — not psychotic at all. While her manner of dress appears primitive to his eyes, it is also more modestly put together than the Mayans. She is clearly not of the same ilk.

Whipping her head to the side, braided hair swinging, she frowns in irritation and folds her arms at the two men who are engaged in an argument over papers being grasped between them. Octavius can’t hear what is being vehemently discussed, the glass encasement allows no sound to escape its walls.

Octavius’s attention wavers as his head snaps back. Lurching forward, Sweet Pea gallops at full speed.

"Stop!" Octavius shouts and jerks the reins. Frustrated, he falls back on Roman diplomacy. "Do you have any idea who I am, you beastly thing? You truly are Jedediah’s steed. I demand that you stop!"

His command is ignored. Still panicked, Sweet Pea dashes past Jedediah, full-tilt, intent on rushing out the other side of the room altogether.

"Hellbeast!" Octavius shouts, and pulls the reins. "Stop, I say!"

Sweet Pea doesn’t stop, but whips her head around and clops back the way she came. Octavius braces himself to make a dive for the floor, when Jedediah stretches his gloved hand, palm out.

"Whoa," he says softly. "Easy."

As if by magic, Sweet Pea is halted mid stride. The momentum propels Octavius over the top of the steed’s neck. Already anticipating precisely such an event, Octavius rolls as he hits the ground, and pops up on his feet with a bounce.

Readjusting both his helmet and his armor, all while continuing to clutch Jedediah’s Stetson, he shouts, "I can assure you that stunt was planned!"

Jedediah squints at him, frowns, and turns his attention back up to the prison.

Octavius tilts his head at the lack of reaction. He really hadn’t been expecting to get a laugh with his somersault. It had more to do with not wanting to land on his face, but if he were truly honest with himself, he had expected more. Jedediah’s typical reactions to such antics ran the gambit on any given night from: laughter, chastisement, smart remarks, curiosity, aggravated shouting, or the occasional accusation — something.

Octavius breathes in a shaky, shuddery breath. "Right."

Intent on approaching cautiously, Octavius’s commanding veneer melts. He is overcome by a wave of affection and relief at the sight of Jedediah standing before him and not lying dead at the top of the Temple of Kukulcan or in one of its chambers.

Brightening, Octavius rushes forward, intent on enfolding Jedediah in an embrace.

* * *

_Later…_

Sliding across the floor from the punch, Octavius slams into the far wall.

"Well, I haven’t missed this at all." Splayed on his back and staring up at the ceiling, he observes, "I seemed to have misjudged my welcome. Perhaps rushing the enemy when he doesn’t realize he’s not my enemy at the moment may not have been the wisest course of action to take..."

Shaking off the punch, he rises to his feet.

Face grim, jaw set, Octavius considers quickly and unties the chin strap of his headgear and removes the helmet from his head. He pauses long enough to remove his sword from its scabbard, as well as a dagger he had sheathed away when the night began. He’s kept it strapped to his thigh, hidden, but he undoes the sheath's fastenings, too. He sets his burden aside, and slides them up against the wall, safely out of easy reach. If Jedediah is beyond reason, Octavius has no wish to accidentally injure him out of reflex, or be injured himself if Jedediah were to grab hold of one of his weapons.

"Jedediah?" Octavius approaches cautiously this time.

Jedediah exhales sharply and whips around, arm outstretched, gun drawn. "Keep your distance, unless you want to be in a world of hurt, boy!"

Octavius flinches at the sudden action, but doesn't back down. There’s a hardness around Jedediah’s eyes Octavius doesn’t like, and his face is uncharacteristically stern. Octavius frowns and tilts his head. Jedediah’s limbs are too rigid. His movements are jerky, and he’s lost his soft, western drawl.

Octavius slides his eyes to the gun, and then back up to meet Jedediah’s gaze. Gently, he says, "You know those don’t work."

Jedediah frowns, and the sternness melts away as though it never was. "Ya think I don’t realize that?" he asks, accent returning.

"Then why do it?’

Octavius watches in wide-eyed fascination as Jedediah twirls his pistol in a complicated series of maneuvers before holstering the weapon in aggravation.

Aggravation is good; aggravation is normal and safe from madness.

"Do you know who I am?"

Jedediah narrows his eyes at Octavius, his brows knit together. "Why wouldn’t I?"

As gently as he dares, Octavius asks, "Can you tell me my name?"

"Why!" Jedediah demands.

Octavius lifts his hand, still holding Jedediah’s hat gingerly. "Humor me. Please."

Rolling his head with a squint, Jedediah finally relents. "Vesuvius."

Mouth twitching, Octavius brightens. He breaks into a wide smile, wanting nothing more than to rush forward and embrace Jedediah again. He holds himself in check.

"You’re still in there!"

"What are you yammering about?"

Raising his arms, palms up, he says, "Please, Jedediah. I come in peace."

"Boy," Jedediah huffs, face hardening. "There ain't never going to be peace between us. They’re —" Jedediah jerks his hand " — _you’re_ always invading."

"Not tonight."

When Jedediah reverts his attention to the glass prison, Octavius realizes there’s a question he’s been dying to have answered since this entire debacle began. In fact, he demands an answer. Ignoring Jedediah’s foul temper, he says, "May I ask you a question?"

Jedediah crosses his arms with a sigh. "Shoot."

Wanting desperately to smack Jedediah upside the head, but restraining himself in a colossal effort of will, Octavius asks desperately, chin quivering, "Why!" He spreads his arms wide. "Why did you take such a careless action? Why did you separate yourself from the others? There is always safety in numbers. You should have known better, you buffoon!"

Jedediah turns his head, replies, "Went on an expedition. Been explorin'." He glances at Octavius. "Been learnin'. Catchin’ up on world events. Reading. I discovered them big old Bocephuses’s library." He stabs his thumb towards a large, rusty, metal grate melded into the wall. "In the basement."

"I realize that, you fool!" Octavius frowns. Stops. Actually, no, he hadn’t known that, but decides to shelve the topic for later. More gently, he says, "No. I meant earlier than that. At the Western celebration over the defeat of the Mayans. All predators, whether they be human or beast, understand the basic concept of divide and conquer. Why did you keep yourself apart? You left yourself vulnerable. Exposed. It was badly done! You could have been taken. Why did you not join in the festivities? Why did you not dance with your companions?"

Slowly, Jedediah turns around. "How did —"

Lifting his palm, Octavius interrupts, and stems the tide of volleying questions. "Peace, Jedediah. I happened by and noticed. That is all."

Rolling his head with a squint, Jedediah demands, "What's with all the dad-gum questions? You don't get a say in how I run things! I know how to take care of myself just fine. Been doing it on my own my entire life!" Jedediah jerks his head, veins bulging in his neck, hands on hips. "God! You’re nosy tonight. You just — " Turning back to the stone platform, he kicks it. Hard.

Regaining control over himself with supreme effort, he exhales explosively and lowers his head. "I don’t dance, alright? I never learned." A shadow crosses Jedediah’s face, and the sternness from before is back. Jedediah blinks and the shadow fades. When he gazes back, his blue eyes have softened. Jedediah’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he swallows. "‘Sides which, it ain’t like it matters anyways. Ain’t like I got myself a sweetheart to dance with."

"I’d dance with you," Octavius blurts out.

Confusion sparks in Jedediah’s eyes, only to be replaced by anger. "Don’t you mock me, Flavius!"

Octavius shakes his head. "I’m not. I swear it. If we weren’t enemies, I would dance with you."

Jedediah wipes at an invisible smear along his forehead to his brow. Self-consciously, he rubs at his ear. He lowers his head and then turns back to the glass prison.

Brow crinkling, Octavius tilts his head at the action. He stretches his arm out hopefully. "I brought your hat."

Jedediah glares at the Stetson, but doesn’t take it. Lifting his head, he asks softly, "Have you figured it out yet?"

"I’m trying really hard," Octavius confesses.

Jedediah slides his gaze back toward the prison. "We’re exhibits," he says. Lowering his head, he toes the floor with his boot. "In a museum." Jedediah slides his gaze back, gauging Octavius’s reaction.

Embarrassed, Octavius frowns and shakes his head. He does not understand the concept behind that word. It is not in his vocabulary.

Jedediah rubs his forehead in agitation.

"Um, museum. I’m a bit rusty on this, so bear with me. I think it loosely translates to: Acervus picturarum et statuariarum, a collection of pictures and sculptures. We’re the big old Bocephuses’s property, hoss. Their possessions. To manipulate however way they want. We’re all figures from the past. Historical personages who’ve been uprooted from our own time periods and transplanted here. They’ve collected us and put us on display. Like objects. Like things. For their own nefarious purposes. And we ain’t gotta say in any of it!"

Octavius’s fingers twitch. He looks down to see that he’s clutching Jedediah’s hat in a death grip. His hold is so tight that his fist shakes from the strain. Exhaling sharply, he loosens his grip and lowers his arm. Conscientiously, he sets the hat down on the ground so as not to crush the black canvas material in his sudden alarm.

One week.

Jedediah has been on his own, slowly losing his reason for an entire week. Octavius wonders if this madness is even beyond his ability to conquer. Feeling out of his depth, he has no idea what to do or how to counteract whatever shifted inside Jedediah’s mind.

Octavius lifts his hand, palm out, his manner calm and gentle. "Come along, Jedediah. Take my hand. Allow me the honor of escorting you safely home."

Teeth bared, Jedediah viciously bats Octavius’s proffered hand away and stabs his finger toward the direction of the _Hall of Miniatures._ "That ain’t my home!" he shouts with pure venom.

"Alright."

Jedediah tilts his head, studying him angrily for a long moment, hands on his hips. Jerkily, he looks away. He turns his gaze back, eyes weary.

"Don’t go givin' me that hangdog look. There ain't nothing wrong with me, boy."

"Alright," Octavius repeats himself softly, unsure what else he can say.

Jedediah glares and stabs his finger at Octavius this time. "Son, don’t be talkin’ down to me either! I don’t like it."

"I’m not. I swear it." Octavius spreads his arms wide. "I’m simply trying to understand. Please. Help me understand."

Jedediah averts his gaze, frustrated. "Listen, kemosabe. I got things I got to say. And they may be coming out of my mouth a little choppy?" His eyes slide back to Octavius’s. "But give me the benefit of the doubt. Alright?"

Octavius frowns and tilts his head. Jedediah, once again, lost his western drawl.

Shoulders suddenly shaking with mirth, Jedediah covers his mouth with his gloved hands before spreading his arms wide. "Surprise!" he says, his voice coming out a little high-pitched. There’s a mischievous glint in his eye as though he’s told the world's best joke.

When Octavius only stares, stricken, Jedediah’s gaze darts away. His arms flutter down to his sides and he smothers his laughter.

"I was born here, amigo," he offers quietly.

"In this room?" Octavius asks for clarification, spreading his arms to encompass the expanse of their surroundings. "Here?"

Jedediah frowns. "No. Not here. New York. This is just a building. I was born in Jericho, New York. That particular revelation would be funny as all get-out if you knew anything about my accent as it defies our current geographical location and the study of regional dialects."

"Oh…I see." Octavius doesn’t see, but decides to let it go, for now. After a beat, he asks, "How do you know where we are?"

Jedediah crosses his arms over his chest, leaning forward. "Been tryin' to tell ya. I've been out explorin'. Figurin’ things out on my own. What do you think I've been up to, hombre? Playing tiddlywinks?"

Octavius’s mouth quirks. That sounded more like Jedediah.

"Just…" Jedediah raises his gloved palms. " _ **Stop.**_ Stop for a sec, and listen to me. Think about it. Mull it over in your mind’s eye. Look around you, partner. Our boxes that are carved into the walls. Yours. Mine. The Mayans. All the dang creatures we’ve been catchin’ glimpses of over the years. Why everyone is so much bigger than us. The mustachioed horseman.  _Skeletor_ , the skinless wonder, for cryin’ out loud! All the chaos and the screamin’ and hollerin’. The odd sounds. The smells. That feelin’ ya get in the back of your mind that you've been displaced and knowin’ you’re not where ya oughtta be. The displays. The glass encasements," Jedediah says, jerking his thumb toward the transparent prison. "We’re exhibits, Octuplet. In a museum."

One eyebrow arched in contemplation, Octavius pauses a moment to consider. Really consider. Cupping an elbow, and with the other lifted to his chin, he mulls over everything Jedediah said and everything Octavius has seen. As insane as it all sounds, Jedediah’s assertions fit the facts as he knows them.

"Alright," he says at last. "I believe you." Relief floods through him, and he exhales. Brow furrowing, he tilts his head. "So you’re not losing your reason. Not reliving your past?"

"Huh?" Jedediah asks, eloquently. "What are you goin’ on about?" He jerks his hand. "I done relived my past days ago."

"And you haven't been overwhelmed by it," Octavius prompts. "You haven’t let the pull of history drag you under?"

Jedediah leans back against the black marble platform, and slides down into a crouch. "They’re memories, hoss. I led a good upstandin’ life. What do I hafta fear from memories?"

The muscle in Octavius’s jaw tightens. Deeply embarrassed for worrying over nothing, he scowls indignantly, arms akimbo. To save face, he bellows, words echoing within the expanse of the room, "By the gods, Jedediah. I swear to you. You will rue the day you made a fool of me for worrying over your finely-sculpted barbaric backside!"

Turning away, he blushes at his misinterpretation of events. Still not completely satisfied that Jedediah understands the full scope of his wrath, he whirls back around with a sniff and an arrogant lift of his chin. "That's it! Stay where you are. I'm retrieving my sword," he says haughtily, and stalks off.

Jedediah waves away the threat with a simple flick of his wrist. He bounces up. "Quit with all your blusterin' and your Roman melodrama. You ain’t plannin' on doing nothing of the sort. Now listen, ‘cause I got some tidbits and ground rules to cover and I’m only sayin’ ‘em once."

Warming up to the subject of his exploration now that he’s been believed, he begins, "Anyways, from what I gather the museum comes to life only at night." He crosses his arms. "We just…" Jedediah shrugs, at a loss. "...woke up. I have an inkling on how. Ain’t totally for sure. Not yet anyways. But I got some ideas."

Octavius frowns.

"I got proof I ain’t tellin’ tales. There’s photographs of us in some of their wall pamphlets."

At Octavius’s confused look, Jedediah stops and explains, "Photographs. They’re like. Really true-to-life murals or paintings of our likenesses, but more so. Only here. In the museum. The images are sharper. In better focus. They’ve done added back all the colors of the rainbow!" For a moment he loses his stiff posture, and allows himself to show enthusiasm over his discovery before he casts his gaze back down. "Whoo-whee," he says without inflection, eyes flickering sadness. "I’ve seen what we look like in the daylight hours."

With that, Jedediah hops up, climbing his way onto the black marble ledge of the glass encasement. Once at the top, he saunters, his movements once again languid. He slides his gloved hand along the glass of the exhibit.

Octavius follows Jedediah’s movements with his eyes.

"I suppose I look alright, I guess," Jedediah says with a shrug. "You — on the other hand — you look plumb goofy."

Stung by Jedediah’s hurtful remark on his appearance, Octavius blinks rapidly and peers down at the ground. Loosely, he folds his arms over his armor-plated chest as though it could somehow protect his heart from the jab at his looks. Raising his eyebrows, eyes darting away, he murmurs a weak-sounding, "Oh…"

Jedediah whips around, eyes flashing. He stabs his finger at Octavius. "They made you look stupid, hoss. Like a scared jackrabbit!" Offended on Octavius’s behalf, he angrily shouts, "You ain’t never scared of nothin’! They got no right to be so cruel! None! And they painted your dad-gum eyes blue," Jedediah flings his arms out wide, shaking his head vehemently. "They ain’t blue!" Irate, he turns away, his gloved hand skimming along the glass again. After a beat, he bows his head and quietly adds, "They’re dark. And mysterious."

Octavius’s fingers twitch.

Pulse quickening, he slowly lifts his eyes. A corner of his mouth quirks up into the beginnings of a shy smile. Immediately, he has to cut his gaze away. With his hands behind his back, he begins rocking back and forth on his heels a little. "Oh!"

"A friendly word of advice to you and your boys." Grimly, Jedediah exhales, hops down, and grips his belt. "We can die here. If any of you fellas decide to take a walk on the wild side and head out of doors, make sure all your boys know to get their behinds back inside the building by sunrise. Otherwise it’s Saint Peter meetin’ them at the Pearly Gates, ya hear? That's when we return ta’ dust."

Octavius frowns. "How do you know this? Did you witness such an occurrence?"

"The mustachioed rider. I threatened to shoot him in the dad-gum eye if he didn’t tell me what was what."

Face scrunching up in alarm, Octavius asks, "You threatened Teddy?"

Jedediah shrugs. "Bluffed him was more like it. He let on we lost the Donner Party early back in 1953." Speaking out of the side of his mouth, Jedediah tilts his head slightly. "From what I hear, it ain’t no great loss." He flicks his wrist, to quell comment. "Don’t ask. But still. That was them. I’m talkin’ about you. You boys best be careful."

Octavius nods. "We will. I thank you for the advice."

Jedediah waves away the gratitude. "You’re welcome." He shakes his head as though to clear it. His eyes flicker. "No problemo, kemosabe. I do what I can."

Frowning, Octavius tilts his head. He’s heard those words before. "You do, don’t you? Do what you can, I mean?"

Lifting his chin, Jedediah says, "I was a good man once, amigo."

Octavius takes a step toward Jedediah. "I believe you still are."

A corner of Jedediah’s mouth quirks up at the compliment before he ducks his head and gets serious again.

"Ya also need to be mindful around heat sources. Anything to do with fire. The waxworks are especially prone to it. They melt down real good. We seem ta’ be slightly more immune, a bit more sturdy-like. We're made from a different material, I reckon, but it’s best not to take chances. We lost Edgar Allan Poe to a meltdown in the _Great Writing by Candlelight Conflagration of 1967."_

Jedediah turns his attention back to the party encased in their glass prison and glares.

"You keep looking at them." Octavius frowns and glances up at the giants, too. "Do you know them?"

Jedediah nods. "Yeah, I know them, alright."

Hands behind his back, Octavius rocks on his heels, and waits for Jedediah’s explanation. When Jedediah remains silent, Octavius asks, "Could you possibly elaborate? I’m used to a bit more detail from you."

Jedediah keeps his eyes focused on the giants. "What do you want to know?" he asks with a shrug. "Ain’t got much ta' say. I always have been a man of few words."

Octavius stills and slowly turns his head. The cold knot of dread that had begun unraveling suddenly tightens in the pit of his stomach.

When Octavius says nothing, Jedediah swallows and averts his eyes. "Relax, machismo. I'm perfecting my _strong, silent_ type. It's the kind of man I'm supposed to be, after all. Quiet," he whispers, drawing in a ragged breath.

Tilting his head, Octavius answers truthfully. "I'd prefer you speak."

A shudder passes through Jedediah. He absently wipes at the invisible smear at his brow again, rubbing his ear. He shakes himself. Crossing his arms over his chest, he says, "I appreciate you coming ta' check on me, hoss. I really do. That was mighty neighborly of ya, but you best be gettin’ on home now. You can see I'm fine. Or that I will be, once I work through some issues on my own. I don't need lookin' after. I'm a big boy." Jedediah huffs out a bitter laugh. "Metaphorically speaking, that is." He shakes his head jerkily. "Go on home, boy. Git. I’m sure your wife misses you."

"I can say with absolute sincerity that she does not. She isn’t among my people. She didn’t come with me."

Blue eyes wide, Jedediah slides his stricken gaze toward Octavius.

"It was a political maneuver," Octavius explains without preamble. "She did not love me, and I would not have her back again."

"I never married. Too busy trailblazin’. Wanting to be like them." Jedediah waves his hand at the two men. "Their names are Meriwether Lewis and William Clark. I was around fifteen. A friend of the family gave me a copy of a journal about some of their exploits. He knew I always loved the out of doors and the thrill of adventure. Nature, especially." Jedediah lifts his chin. "They became my heroes. My inspiration. And just look at ‘em..."

Jedediah turns to Octavius. "They’ve been like this. Arguing. For hours. Days, even. Everytime I mosey on past. They must’ve been at it for years. They won’t _stop_ arguing."

Taking a step toward the exhibit, Jedediah continues.

"My family, ya see, we had to pack up lickety-split from New York. Got ourselves out of Dodge, and fast. Headed over to Erie County, Pennsylvania when I was a youngun. Money scandal." Jedediah turns his attention back to Octavius. A shadow passes over Jedediah’s face and he lifts a gloved finger to his lips, creeping slowly toward him, a mad glint in his eye. "Shhh," he says, points and winks. "Don’t tell anyone."

Octavius pauses and frowns as the hair on the back of his neck slowly rises. "Jedediah?"

"Kept their journal in my back pocket on all my journeys. Studying it. I dang near wore out the pages," Jedediah says, the shadow fading as he looks back up at the men. "Until I decided to write a journal of my own." Hands on his hips, he says, "I never took my heroes for ignoramuses, though.

"Finding west ain’t hard, fellas," he drawls to the two men. Jedediah’s foul temper from earlier returning with a vengeance, he jerks his hand. "You whip out your compass, find north, and turn **_left!_** "

"Jedediah..."

"Or, you can follow the path of the sun. The sun always sets in the  ** _west!_** " Jedediah shouts, thrusting his finger in the correct direction.

"You’re not alright, are you?" Octavius watches, concerned, but doesn’t touch.

"I’m fine! Don’t I look it?" Jedediah shouts, eyes flashing. He stalks away and turns back to Octavius, mouth thinning into an unhappy line. "I always heard tell that you should never meet your heroes, hoss. Because you’ll always wind up disappointed. But, this. This stabs at the old ticker something fierce!"

"Jedediah, perhaps we should —"

Jedediah points toward the rusty grate. "Do you know how many volumes there are down there of the  _Corps of Discovery Expedition_ , or what is better known simply as, the  _Lewis and Clark Expedition?_ "

Octavius shakes his head.

"Twelve. And I've been down there, reading them all," Jedediah says, his voice wavering. He jabs his finger toward the grate again. "Do you know how many books about me there are down there?"

Octavius shifts uneasily. "No."

Jedediah’s face scrunches up, pained. "That would be a big fat zero. Ya know what I got?"

Octavius shakes his head again.

"I got a teeny, tiny blurb, oh, about...yay high." Jedediah's hands swipe down the length of his body. "No bigger than me.  _Jedediah Strong Smith_ , it reads: _He lived. He died. The end._ "

Interested, Octavius studies Jedediah for a long moment. "That is your true name?"

Jedediah smiles jerkily. "Wanna know what else that tiny, little blurb says about me, hoss?"

"Please," Octavius says with a nod.

"That I was a racist. That I thought down on the native people." Jedediah waves his hand. "That’s a load of bull! I ain’t like that! I called them ‘ _the children of nature_ ’ because I thought that was beautiful!" he shouts. "I called myself that, too!"

"One time,  _one time_ ," Jedediah holds up a gloved finger, conceding, "I leave camp to go trappin’ and explorin'. In the meanwhile a couple of my boys felt it their place to start somethin’ with the Umpqua people. When I get back, most of my boys are bleached  _bones!_ " he says, voice wavering again.

"Less than a handful were still alive for me to come back to. And when I found out what they done while I was away — ‘cause I did…" Jedediah shakes his head, ashamed, hands balled into fists. He won’t meet Octavius’s gaze. "They whipped one of them Umpqua’s and threatened to string him up over a stolen ax — a stupid, stolen ax! I don’t know how it happened. But I had no part in that. I wasn't even _**there!**_ "

Jedediah rears up and kicks the black marble ledge.

Octavius clamps a hand on Jedediah's shoulder. "Jedediah, please. Come away."

Jedediah jerks free of Octavius’s hand, and begins pacing.

"You don’t understand, hoss. I always made sure my boys were friendly. Always. And if they weren’t," Jedediah points to his own chest, "they answered to  _ **me**_ , or…" he jerks his thumb, and whistles. "... they were gone! I never once attacked first. Never started fights, but I sure as heck, finished ‘em." He ticks his points on his fingers.

"Never boasted. Never smoked. Never drank. Never used profanity! I never thought myself above anyone or used the color of my skin to toss my weight around. The native people, the friendly ones, anyhow, they respected me! And if the menfolk had to go out and do what the menfolk had to do, they knew they could leave me alone with their wives and their kids because I wouldn’t overstep. Many of my contemporaries? They weren’t so friendly. But they got volumes down there in that basement, too." Jedediah pauses to take in a shallow breath, before pointing his finger at Octavius. "And I suppose, I shouldn’t be remembered or celebrated for any of that, because that’s plain old common  _decency!"_

Jedediah stops in his tracks, breathing hard, struggling to get back under control. He doesn’t turn around and Octavius averts his face.

"But unlike Lewis and Clark, I didn’t need me no guide to get where I got!" Jedediah points to himself. "I was the guide. Me. I discovered the South Pass through the Rockies. Captained the first overland party to reach California from the east. The first to explore and cross the Sierra Nevada Mountains and the Great Basin — and let me tell you somethin’, hoss, none of that was easy — I practically starved myself gettin’ it done. I was the first explorer to reach Oregon by way of the California coast. I rode circles around Lewis and Clark in my journeys. Covered over twice the distance and explored far more territory. And I did it all on my own! _**Me!**_ "

Jedediah begins pacing again, and speeds up. "And it wasn’t like I did it for the fame or to be remembered. I did it because I loved it. I was at home in my wilderness. I stayed behind when my boys went back for supplies or to make a profit." He stops pacing and turns around. "Ya know, I can forgive that blurb author for not knowing anything about me. But them big old Bocephuses have a lot to answer for!"

Octavius holds up his palm. "Peace, Jedediah, all will be well."

"No, it won’t! You don’t even know the half of it!" He squints, eyes hard. "Do you know what year it is in the Old West?"

Octavius shakes his head. "I never really thought about it," he confesses.

"Well, I have! It’s sometime after 1862. Ya know how I know this?"

Octavius shakes his head. "No."

"Because we got Celestials workin’ with us."

"Celestials?" Octavius asks, confused.

"The Chinese immigrants. I don’t know if that term is derogatory or not, but I sure hope it ain’t. Because it’s dang beautiful if you ask me. We’re all supposed to be employed by the Central Pacific Railroad Company, because they were the only ones who hired Chinese workers, or so the books in that library keep tellin’ me." Jedediah scrunches up his face. "Do you know what year I died, hoss?"

Octavius shakes his head again. "No."

Jedediah palms his journal from his back pocket. "I died in the spring of May, 1831! That’s when my scribblings stop." He tosses his journal on the floor and kicks it away. "And I know it ain’t some fluke or that I just stopped writing because I remember that day when them braves spooked my horse at that waterin’ hole. There were twenty of them Comanches. They blasted me with their shotgun. They lanced me. And they drowned me."

Octavius draws in a short, shocked breath.

Jedediah nods jerkily, a humorous gleam in his eyes. "That’s right, boy." Jedediah raises his eyebrows. "I think it was the drownin’ that stuck." Jedediah tilts his head with a squint. "You ever been stabbed in the back by a lance while you’re crawlin’ off to die, amigo?" Jedediah laughs, a little shakily. "It don’t feel good. It makes you feel mighty powerless."

He edges toward Octavius, leaning forward. "But then there's the most amazing thing. Beautiful bright light. And then I’m the wind." Slowly creeping forward, he raises his gloved fingers, wiggling them. His eyes wide, pupils blown, he smiles a death’s head grin. "Whooooo," he breathes, his voice dropping into a low pitch, imitating a departed spirit. "And then there’s lightning in my chest. And I wake up here. With every Roman soldier in the world bearin’ down on my head." Jedediah huffs, grins. The softness returns to his gaze. "Way to make an entrance, by the way, toga boy."

Octavius swallows and nods. "Thank you."

Jedediah’s grin stretches into a smile, and he ducks his head. "See, the thing is. I can forgive those Comanche warriors for doing what they done. They were just a bunch of punk kids wanting to be all big and bad for their friends. Wanting to make names for themselves. Add another white man to their belt, because, after all, we’re all the same, ain’t we? A bunch of greedy racists out to get all we can. And I was on their land fair and square." Jedediah pauses, sauntering up to the the black marble ledge.

"Ya see, I had this niggling feelin’ in the back of my mind that something wasn’t right that day. You have this sense about it, this feeling of dread that just won’t go away. But my boys were sufferin’. They were thirsty. Needed water. So I didn't listen. I separated myself from the group just like ya said. They got me good. They got me real good."

Jedediah turns back around, his expression hard.

"What I can’t forgive is them Bocephuses. They didn’t do their homework. Or were too lazy. Or just didn’t care when they put me in that exhibit. I was placed in there for decoration. Just like my guns. For show! They made me impotent!"

Jedediah raises his arms, and shouts at the towering ceiling, "What happened, boys? Low on funding? Needed to even out the set? Didja bust up the cowboys’ _real_ boss, and decide to take me out of storage and dust me off instead, thinking, ‘Oh, good Ol’ Jedediah, he won’t mind! Ain’t nobody knows who he is anyways? He's just another of them stupid cowboys, let’s toss him in there ‘cause it don’t make a dang bit of difference!'"

Jedediah rounds on Octavius. "Well, I do mind! What am I even supposed to be anyways?" He points at his chest. "Am I their foreman? The big boss man? The head honcho? Their sheriff? 'Cause I, sure as fire, don't know! And neither do they!"

Jerking his head up to rage at the ceiling, he shouts, "You ought to have been more careful with your breakables, boys. ‘Cause I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna take it anymore! A storm’s blowin’ in, fellas. It’s coming in mighty fast. It’s comin’ for you! You best be watching your backs! Because I’m through bein’ friendly!"

With that, Jedediah kicks at the black marble ledge. He kicks it again and again. He keeps kicking at it. Hard.

"Jupiter, help me." Octavius rushes forward. "You’re not fine. Jedediah. You’re not fine! Come away from the exhibit."

Jedediah rounds and shoves him away. "Oh! And let’s not forget Manifest Destiny. You know what that is?"

Octavius shakes his head. "I presumed it was your religion."

Jedediah huffs out bitter laughter.

_"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul."_

Octavius falters. "You’re of Judea?"

"I ain’t Jewish. I’m Methodist."

Octavius shakes his head, uncomprehending. "I have no idea what that is."

Jedediah rolls his head in aggravation. "Same God, but with a twist ending."

"Oh…" Octavius murmurs, arching an eyebrow; he nods, "Thank you."

Jedediah jerks his hand. "No problemo." Back under control again, he glares. "Manifest Destiny. It ain’t a religion. It’s an idea. And a bad one. There are several schools of thought on that according the library," he says, pacing. "The most simplistic explanation is that it’s expansion. But nothin’ in life is ever simplistic. ‘Cause there’s a whole lot more to it than that. It all boils down to the ‘ _White Man’s Burden._ ’ Ever hear tell of it? It’s the idea that white man can do whatever white man wants because he thinks he’s superior to everyone else. That he can take what don’t belong to him, including another man's land."

Guiltily, Octavius looks away in shame.

Jedediah stabs his finger at Octavius. "Don’t be lookin’ like that. I know your heart’s in the right place, boy. I seen it. But you can’t fight it and neither can I! ‘Cause that’s what they made us to be! Small. And powerless!" He turns his attention back to Lewis and Clark. They’ve stopped arguing to stare down at him. "Yeah, that’s right, boys. Take a good long, look. Remember me? Got too big for your breeches, didn’tcha?"

He kicks the black marble ledge. Again and again, he kicks it. Harder and harder.

"Jedediah, stop!" Octavius grabs Jedediah, wraps his arms around him tight in effort to restrain him, pulls him back against his armor-plated chest. "Stop this madness!"

Jedediah rears up, and using the ledge for leverage, kicks off, and sends them both crashing to the floor. 

* * *

_Later…_

Sliding across the floor from the punch, Octavius rolls, twists, his fingers clawing at the ground for purchase and to slow his momentum. Before he hits the far wall, he skids to a stop and into a crouching position.

"Somebody’s gotta pay!" Jedediah shouts. He’s climbed up the black marble ledge and pounds his fists at the glass.

"You will stop this madness!" Octavius thunders, words echoing through the expanse of the room. He bounds forward, intent on pulling Jedediah away from the glass encasement before he does himself an injury. 

* * *

_Later…_

Trapped in a bear hug, Jedediah swings his legs backward and hooks them behind Octavius’s knees.

They go down in a tangle of limbs… 

* * *

_Later…_

"Why do you even care what I do? You don’t even like me!" Jedediah screams, grimacing.

Octavius holds on tight and counters, "You showed me mercy once. And I refuse to be beholden to the likes of you, you fool!"

"Never again!" 

* * *

_Later…_

"Cease your struggles!"

"No!"

Pretzeled together on the floor, Octavius shouts, "One of us is going to bend on this issue, Jedediah. And it will not be me!" 

* * *

_Later…_

 

Still pretzeled together, Octavius soothes, "Jedediah, you’re going to have a brain aneurysm if you don’t calm down. Go to sleep! You’ll feel much better once your mind stops whirling and you’ve had rest."

"No!"

"The memories will cease to hold sway if you simply go to sleep! On my life, I swear it!"

"This ain’t got nothin’ to do with memories, hoss! This is all about the here and now!" Jedediah shouts. Attention wavering, he let's go of Octavius's restraining arm to point threateningly at Lewis and Clark. He shouts, "This ain’t over! When I get loose, I’m going ta’ getcha!" 

* * *

_Later…_

Still pretzeled together on the floor, Octavius wraps his legs around Jedediah’s torso, keeping him restrained.

"You will cease your struggles and go to sleep!"

"God!" Jedediah growls, grunts, straining to break free. "You’re bossy tonight. Wow!" he shouts as Octavius's legs tighten around him. "You're being so dominant right now. Raawrrrl."

"Thank you!"

Laughing in maniacal glee, Jedediah whips his head around, and licks a stripe up the side of Octavius’s face.

Octavius gasps. The sudden shock of both the action and the damp heat causes him to release his hold.

Jedediah pulls free, darts forward, and launches himself at the marble ledge to get at the glass again.

Wiping his face, Octavius rises up. Eyes narrowing to slits, he charges forward, and pounces.

They go down, once again, in a tangle of limbs. 

* * *

_Later…_

"Octopus. Octarchy. Octosyllable. Octopede. Octavo. Octahedron. Octapeptide. Octet. Octuplex. Octupling. Octangle-bojangle. Okie from Muskogee…"

"Making up words now, are we?" Octavius huffs out an incredulous breath. "It’s like you’re not even trying anymore!"

"Whoo-whee!" Jedediah whips his head. "Saddle up, hoss! You’re lookin’ at Erie County’s Academic Shining Star of 1815! And I done got hold of an updated dictionary _and_ a thesaurus!" 

* * *

_Later…_

"You ain't gettin’ me to sleep!"

"You are resting and that is final!"

Struggling to break free, Jedediah shouts, "Get up offa me!"

"I’m not on you, you buffoon! You’re on me!" Laying back to front, Jedediah is spread on top of him like an overturned turtle. Octavius tightens his legs around Jedediah’s waist. 

* * *

_Later…_

Still both on their backs…

"Gaaah!" Jedediah gasps, wheezing in a hissing breath. "Ease up a smidge on the reins there, hoss, you're killin' me!"

Octavius laughs breathlessly.

"After all your repeated hog-tying, you'd be surprised at how limber I’ve become. I’m so limber in fact, that I am able to do _**this**_!" Gritting his teeth, he jerks, legs tensing, and pulls Jedediah even tighter against him, refusing to let go.

"Gaaah! Gaaah!" Jedediah screams. Out of breath, he winces, grimaces. "You’re like a dang boa constrictor!"

"Tie me down and I shall become more flexible than you can possibly imagine!"

"Gaaah! Let me up, ya dad-gum bronco buster!"

"Never!" Octavius grimaces, and then grins broadly. He huffs out wicked-sounding laughter. "Tell me, love, how are your resources doing back home? Suffering from depletion?"

Jedediah ceases his struggles, pausing a moment to think over the question. Shoulders tightening, he shouts, "Son of a…"

Octavius’s grin stretches into a full-blown smile. Teeth flashing, he gloats, "That’s right,  _my darling!_ The Roman army will know no defeat. You will be conquered!"

Jedediah surges up in an effort to break Octavius’s hold. "Gaaaah! You sneaking, underhanded…"

"There's been no underhandedness on my part, dear one, I assure you. I've been direct and honest in all my dealings with you from the start. I laid out my entire plan step-by-glorious-step from the very beginning. Only you were too blind to see it.  _That_ is how I win!"

"Dagnabit! You hypnotized me, ya shifty-eyed serpent!" Jedediah grunts, breath ragged, he shouts, "I’ve been bamboozled by your sneaky Roman wiles!"

Octavius laughs, but keeps his hold tight.

"Lying down is too easy for your no-good hide! I’ll find another way to make ya cool your heels the next time you boys come callin’ again! This ain’t over! _‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord!’_ "

Jedediah whips his head around wildly, trembling with his struggle to break free. Teeth gritted, the veins pulse in his neck.

Close enough for Octavius to feel Jedediah’s breath ghosting against his ear, Jedediah threatens, "I hope you like standin' up, hoss! ‘Cause when I get through with you, you’re gonna be fastened up, good and tight! You won't know what hit ya! I’ll even whip out my chains! All for you, Moonbeam! All for you! That way ya don't go slitherin' off like some thief in the night with your lyin’, deceivin’, no-good-cheatin’, manipulatin', double-dealin’, brand-new, trickster-coyote bendy-powers!"

Octavius lifts his chin and thunders, " _ **I welcome it!**_ " 

* * *

_Later…_

"By the gods, Jedediah, you're worse than Julia to put to bed."

"Who’s Julia?" Jedediah turns his head with a grunt, muscles still tense, jerking involuntarily. "That the missus?"

Octavius shakes his head. "No, my daughter."

"Aw, you're a father?" Jedediah coos, instantly brightening at the news. "Since, when? Congratulations are in order, Octo-daddy! Sorry I didn’t getcha any cigars! I shoulda known by the way I see you treatin’ your boys. So good. It fits!"

Octavius shifts, but doesn’t release his hold.

"I had two wayward children I had to put up with. The Roman commonwealth and my daughter."

Jedediah grins at him. Humming, his eyes glaze over. Happy. Relaxing, he says, "I bet you were a good dad."

"No." Octavius exhales. "No, I was not. I was at once too strict and too indulgent with her. As she aged, she became promiscuous. She wound up bedding her way through half of Rome."

Startled, Jedediah whips his head around at the news. He finds Octavius's gaze. His eyes are stricken, filling with compassion. He licks his lips. "Well, now, I'm sure it was just a phase," he says quietly.

Octavius shakes his head, clamping his eyes shut.

"No. It was not. Her flagrant misconduct was ultimately brought to an end when she was arrested for adultery and treason. Eventually, I had to make a choice. As emperor, I had a duty to the citizens of Rome to adhere to Roman laws. To prevent malcontent, there were only two options. Either have her executed or exiled. I chose the latter. And I never forgave her for forcing my hand." Loosening his grip, he adds softly, "I am no prize. Would that I never married, or had died childless."

"Did you love her?" Jedediah gently asks.

Scowling, Octavius says, "Of course, I loved her! She was my daughter!"

"Then don't be sayin’ something like that. I’m sure she was just like her daddy. All bullheadedness and bluster. Deep down, I'm sure she loved you, too." Abruptly tensing, Jedediah whips away. He groans softly, rolling his head. "Silas..." He looks back at Octavius. "I’ll be having a talk with him. You have my word that none of my boys’ll be disrespecting the ladies again. Not on my watch."

Octavius nods jerkily. "Thank you." Exhaling, he slides his eyes towards Jedediah. He huffs, suddenly nervous. "...about Silas…"

Jedediah whips his head at the guilty-sounding tone. Suddenly suspicious, he asks, "What did you do? He dead? Didja kill him?"

"No!" Octavius cries, defending himself. "No, he isn’t dead. However, he may look slightly different from what you remember upon your return. Slightly."

Shaking his head, Jedediah grumbles, "You headbutted him, didn't ya?" Answering his own question, he grouses, "‘Course ya did. 'Course ya did! Leave him alone. He’s just a good old boy with a chronic case of the orneries, that’s all. He’s harmless. Stop headbuttin’ people! I can't take you anywhere! See, this is why I don’t introduce ya to my friends! It’s embarrassing! Unbecoming. Ain’t nobody goin’ to be bleedin’ on my watch, boy!"

Octavius sneers at the chastisement, but says nothing. The more he thinks about Jedediah’s beratement over his actions, the less he likes it. His eyes narrow to slits. All at once he jerks his legs, tightening his hold around Jedediah’s waist with renewed vigor.

Jedediah rears up with a sharp gasp. "Gaaaah! Gaaaah!" His head falls back against Octavius’s shoulder as he strains, pulls, licks his lips, grits his teeth. Pausing to catch his breath, he asks, "So how did ya get her to fall asleep?"

"Hmm?" Octavius asks at the change in subject, keeping his grip tight.

"Julia," Jedediah grunts. "How didja get your baby girl to sleep?"

"I sang to her."

Jedediah stills, ceases his struggles, thinks about it, and surges up. "I won't be sung to!" 

* * *

_Later…_

"I want my grizzly bear back! Where’s my wolf? My wilderness! Nothing grows over there! I want my scenery back! I want my nature and my soft mossy soil! There ain't nothin' in the Old West! It's all dead! A barren wasteland of shattered hearts and broken dreams!" Jedediah rants wildly. "And I got dirt and sand comin' outta parts of me I never knew I had!"

Octavius laughs. "Sounds like a medical condition. I advise a physician," he counters in a glib tone.

"Cute!" Jedediah says, allowing himself a small laugh before struggling again, teeth bared.

"Thank you!"

"And that's another thing. I shouldn’t be finding you so dang cute. I ain’t funny!"

"You're witty and intelligent, and amusing."

"Bootlicker!" Jedediah shouts. "What’d I tell ya about that, huh? You’re bootlickin’ privileges have been revoked!"

"I will speak my mind if I wish, you buffoon. For ** _I_ ** am a Roman general! And when I bestow a compliment, you will accept it in the spirit in which it is given!" Octavius tightens his hold in aggravation at being maligned. "I will say what I like, when I like, and to whom I like. And what I like is that you are amusing. You intrigue me and make me laugh."

"But I shouldn’t! Everything's all screwed up! There’s something wrong inside of me! I ain't right! I was a quiet man. Serious and solemn! Reserved. No sense of humor at all. Never spoke much. Then you come along, sassin' me all the dang time…" Jedediah rears up against Octavius’s hold. "Gaaaah! You made me chatty! I ain't chatty!"

Octavius shakes his head, holding on. "There is nothing the matter with you, Jedediah. You're exactly as you should be. It's change. And there is nothing to fear from it. That's all it is. Change. We adapt or we die! Adapt with me..." 

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah worries at the invisible smear on his brow again and jerks, attempting to pull free from the restraining arms.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Octavius demands.

"Does it show?" Jedediah asks, self-consciously. "Does it look real bad?"

Confused, Octavius can only stare. "I don’t see anything."

"The scarring. I had to be stitched up on the fly before I lost too much blood. But I kept my wits about me and ordered my boys to fetch water to clean out the wounds and keep stitching. They didn’t think I’d pull through. But I did. The side of my face is a mess of jagged scars."

Octavius shakes his head, eyes intently searching. "There is nothing there. No scars." He tightens his grip. "Jedediah, there is nothing there."

Jedediah shakes his head and closes his eyes.

"Grizzly bear done got me good. His jaws literally scalped me. And his claws ripped a hole up my side. His dang paws were strong enough to break a horse’s back. Nearly took my ear off to boot. But I forgive him. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time when he came barreling out of that brush. And he was only trying to eat, too."

"Unbelievable." Octavius shakes his head. "What did you name your bear?"

Jedediah peeks one eye open.

"Come now, Jedediah, you rename everything. What did you name your bear?"

Jedediah’s eyes flash, and he says, "What I named that bear ain’t repeatable in polite society!"

Taken off guard by that answer, Octavius’s mouth twitches; his grin stretches into a smile that is all teeth. He laughs.

Considering the question in earnest, Jedediah adds, "If I had it to do over again, I’d’ve named him Dobey."

Brows knitting together, Octavius asks, "Why, you fool?"

"Because names are funny things. Give the bear a cutesy-soundin’ name and it strives to live up to the name ya give it. Gives it a new purpose in life. It reshapes itself all for you. Becomes all cute and sweet-like. It’s psychology. ‘Sides, even if that don’t happen, and the bear stays mean, it’s still good. Because the  _grizzly_ part of the bear loses all power over you."

Octavius shuts his eyes and rests his temple against Jedediah’s head, leaning against the soft, tousled mop to catch his breath from such an extended struggle.

"Dobey sounds like a proper name for a bear." 

* * *

_Later…_

"May I ask you a question?" Octavius says, panting, struggling to keep his grip on Jedediah.

Grimacing, Jedediah counters, "Shoot."

"Do you know what  _usurp_ means?"

Jedediah ceases his struggles for a moment as he mulls over the question. "It means: to overthrow." Confused, his brow crinkles and he slides his eyes toward Octavius. "Why?"

Octavius’s mouth twitches and he shakes his head. "Never mind. It’s simply that you speak my language."

Even more confused, Jedediah whips his head. "I thought we already established that!"

Pulse quickening from the strain of continued battle, Octavius nods once, closing his eyes. "Yes."

And if his restraining arms curl into an embrace for a moment, Octavius will never admit to it. 

* * *

_Later…_

"I won’t be conquered!" Jedediah shouts, still trying to break free.

"Jedediah, I’m not attempting to conquer you. I’m trying to help you!"

"No, no! You got plans, hoss! I been seein’ it in your eyes. When you conquer me, you ain’t even going ta' sell me off properly. After all my hog-tying, you’re gonna trade me to some harem out of spite! And then I’ll be polishin’ some sultan’s apple. It’s only a matter of time before I’ll have more than sand up my backside!"

Octavius stills. Mouth twitching, he laughs uncontrollably. He trembles with it.

"My, my," he chuckles, the sound of his throaty laughter is warm, soft, and low. "I commend you on such a vivid imagination, Jedediah Strong Smith. You have my edict of approval."

"It ain’t funny!" Jedediah sobs, shaking his head frantically from side to side, bouncing it off Octavius’s shoulder.

"Oh, yes, it is. Yes, it is," Octavius rumbles with a hum. "Peace. Be assured that when I conquer you, I shall never sell, nor will I ever trade you to a sultan. That is my solemn oath." Octavius slides his eyes over to Jedediah, arching an eyebrow. "Tell me. How does Rome sound?"

Jedediah stills and whips his head to the side to stare at Octavius. Livid, narrowed blue eyes flash, meeting Octavius's own playful, brown ones. "I won’t be conquered!"

The night rings with Octavius's teasing, good-natured laughter. 

* * *

_Later…_

"Being conquered by me really wouldn’t be so terrible," Octavius soothes, his hands buried deep in Jedediah’s thick hair. He cards through the tousled mop, the strands sliding through his fingers. "You’ll see. I shall be a benign ruler. You’ll be allowed to keep your various religions and customs. And you may continue using all of your customary laws that aren't in direct opposition to Roman law, of course. We shall rise up, a multicultural entity. Your people shall become my people and their lives will fall under my protection."

Jedediah’s body spasms slightly, still fighting, but his eyes have begun to glaze over. He blinks slowly, lethargically. "I reckon that don't sound so bad…" He nuzzles his head against Octavius’s hand, not wanting the petting to stop. "S’nice. Feels real nice…" By degrees, the fight leaves him and he closes his eyes. Finally, with a soft exhale, he drifts off. His head lolls to the side and his body goes slack.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Octavius loosens his hold, and eases away. Resting his head on the floor, he exhales a long, deep breath, finally able to relax.

Beside him, Jedediah laughs. Eyes snapping open, he lurches to his feet. "Hahaha! Psychology!"

Octavius pops his head up, exhales sharply, and rises to the challenge. 

* * *

_Later…_

Standing, arms akimbo, Octavius shouts, "Jedediah! Come down from there this instant!"

Finding handholds in the imperfect glass, Jedediah scales the encasement. " _That’s a big no-can-do, buckaroo! Somebody's got to pay!"_

"Right, then. I’m coming after you!" Backing up, Octavius drops slowly into a crouch; with knees bent, he springs up with a pounce. He finds a foothold and starts his assent. 

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah twists away from Octavius’s hold, and makes a run for Octavius's weapons he’d stashed to the side earlier in the night.

"No!" In sudden alarm, Octavius pushes off from the floor. "Jedediah! You will not do this thing!"

Instead of reaching for the sword or the dagger, Jedediah reaches for Octavius’s helmet. Twisting around, he squints at the glass encasement eyeing it in calculation.

Octavius stops, whirls around to stare at the prison, too, suddenly realizing Jedediah’s plan. Only the glass walls are far too thick. Even the gigantic, intelligent-looking, gentle-eyed female trapped inside the prison with Lewis and Clark has not been able to break the glass. Impossible. However, Jedediah looks bound and determined to shatter its walls.

It is already fated, written in the stars, what will happen. Octavius fears the only thing that is going to shatter is Jedediah’s dubious grip on his sanity.

"Jedediah! No!"

"Move, kemosabe!"

[ ](http://rimuray.tumblr.com/post/141528283586/octavius-jedediah-no-jed-jedediah-yes-from)

And with that, Jedediah twists, spins, and lets the helmet fly with a powerful, roundhouse fling of his arm.

Octavius ducks, shielding his head, his short dark hair whipping as the helmet sails past.

The helmet crumples in on itself, disintegrating into twisted pieces of metal with a soft — _plink_ — against the glass wall.

All is silent.

Octavius shakily covers his mouth with both his palms, gaze stricken, fear thrumming in his chest.

"Dagnabit!" Jedediah falls to the floor on his knees.

Uncovering his mouth, Octavius thinks quickly in an attempt to the recover the situation. Ever the showman, he points up.

"A most powerful throw. You should be commended. Only you didn’t count on such sturdily-made walls. It must be made of a far superior, Roman design, obviously," he supplies with an arrogant lift of his chin. He puffs out his chest for good measure.

With a shuddering breath, Jedediah slumps over in defeat.

Lips thinning into a bleak line, Octavius darts over, skids to a stop, and kneels beside him.

"Do not dwell so. Everything will be alright."

"You’re wrong," Jedediah says, eyes bright as he curls into a ball. "It ain’t never gonna be alright again. Why do they get ta’ be big, and not us? What makes them so dang special?"

Octavius shakes his head. "I don’t know." Considering for a moment, Octavius asks, "Were there any books written about me down in that library?"

Nodding jerkily, Jedediah says, "Enough ta' fill an entire wall."

Stricken, Octavius asks, "Did you read any of them?"

Jedediah shakes his head. "Didn't have enough time. Crackin’ a book open and turnin’ the pages ain’t as easy as it ought ta’ be when you’re little." He closes his eyes. "And alone."

Octavius blows out a relieved breath. He doesn't want Jedediah reading about the things he's done. He doesn't want anyone to know, rather liking the man he’s becoming here much better.

"Why?"

Clamping his eyes shut, he replies, "Never mind."

"Them Biggins stole everything from me. Somebody's got to pay..." Jedediah repeats with a shake of his head.

"Who must pay, Jedediah?" Octavius murmurs and points toward the woman behind the glass.

She kneels in the dirt of her wilderness prison watching them, her eyes filled with compassion. Tears streak down her face as she lifts her palm, and presses it against the glass.

[ ](http://36.media.tumblr.com/4637f2fe5ac20a873476a0555f93bf8b/tumblr_o4h5n7Xx2N1u3ne7ko1_500.jpg)

[ ](http://41.media.tumblr.com/4ef39b6a3caff6c937dd272da42cde64/tumblr_o4h5n7Xx2N1u3ne7ko2_400.jpg)

[ ](http://41.media.tumblr.com/17a229c6100a203614cba4a422cc0d7c/tumblr_o4h5n7Xx2N1u3ne7ko3_1280.jpg)

"Her? Those imbeciles imprisoned along with her who are too moronic to even realize they’re trapped? Teddy? Who must pay?"

"I don't know!" Jedediah shouts. "Just somebody!" He shakes his head. "You don’t even know half of what them giants done. I can forgive a whole slew of things, hoss. So many things. Scalp me. Murder me. Forget me. Malign my good name. Make me small. Uproot me. Wake me up. But they did something so much worse than that. They took my manhood!"

Octavius draws in a shuddering breath, his eyes trailing toward Jedediah’s groin. He can't stop himself from reaching out in horror.

"Oh, no…"

_A tentative touch of concern —_

_— turns into a grasp —_

_— a start —_

_— a sharp gasp, and then a —_

"Gaaah!" Jedediah's eyes bulge out of their sockets. He slaps Octavius’s hand away.

Their eyes meet and hold for a long time. A deep blush blooms across Jedediah's cheeks, coloring his skin. Octavius’s cheeks burn. Jedediah blusters. Eyes wide, brow arched, Octavius tries to speak. Trembling, no words escape either of their mouths.

It is Octavius who finally recovers his equilibrium first with a blink. "You truly are quite the handful, aren't you?"

Octavius might have actually witnessed genuine lightning flash in Jedediah’s blue eyes.

Jedediah slowly rises to his feet. Octavius does so, likewise, and backs up a step for good measure.

"I see I might have misjudged that remark," Octavius says, feeling somewhat abashed both over the inadvertent fondling and letting his mouth run away from him afterward. It was just. Wow. He might have felt the earth move. Then again, that could have been one of the larger creatures ambling past in the corridor. He nods to himself. "Looking on the bright side of affairs, he is no longer grieving."

Triumphantly, he clenches his fist which still burns from remembered contact.

"Good show, old man. Well played. His sanity, on the other hand —" he tilts his head, smiling hopefully, and grimaces. "— is suspect — I might have lost him."

Jedediah’s hands ball into fists.

Nervously, Octavius rocks on his heels. "And apparently, he can also hear me talking to myself..."

Courage leaves Octavius.

Turning on his heel, he bolts. "Blast!"

"You better run, boy!"

Hearing a battle cry not unlike the fires of hell behind him, Jedediah pounces, riding him down to the floor. They both go down hard. 

* * *

_Later…_

"What does it take to put you down, Jedediah?"

Octavius grips Jedediah’s arms. They are securely locked behind his back. Octavius’s knee is firmly planted, keeping Jedediah prone. Jedediah bucks, rears, but he is wearing down and getting sloppy.

"Ain’t happening, kemosabe! Watch yourself, boy! When I get loose, I’m gonna getcha good! It’ll be a dang Cowboy-on-Roman rodeo! You won’t know what hit ya! God! You’re grabby tonight! The least ya coulda done was offer to buy me dinner first, for crying out loud! Gah!"

"You have my sincerest apologies. I inferred from your words...I believed the giants had gelded you, or had done far worse. I was not attempting to accost you. It was meant merely as a comforting gesture. That is all."

"Comfort, my hind end!"

"I would not presume to lay hands upon a person without their express permission!"

"My nethers are fine and dandy, and completely accounted for, thank you very much!"

"I know that!" Octavius shouts back, and adds, conceding, _"Now._ And what glorious genitals they are! My compliments to both your parents for producing such a fine, strapping example of the male form."

"Gaaaah!" Veins pulse in Jedediah’s neck.

"I’m digging myself in deeper, aren’t I? Please believe me that I am truly sorry. Forgive me. I will endeavor to learn to keep my wayward thoughts to myself. I was simply taken off guard, that is all. I was expecting nothing, and found — well — I found a great deal." Octavius pauses for breath. "May I ask you a question?"

"Hell, no! You’ve gone and lost your question-asking privileges, Octameter! Permanently revoked!"

Octavius’s mouth thins into an unhappy line, but asks his question anyway, "If not through gelding, how did they unman you? I don’t understand."

Jedediah exhales sharply and bounces his forehead against the floor.

"I’m too ashamed to say."

"Tell me. Please."

As a gesture of goodwill, Octavius eases up and allows Jedediah to turn over more comfortably on his side, but remains firm in his restraint.

Jedediah whips his head away.

"Them big Bocephuses branded me, hoss. It was the final straw in a hay bale _full_ of straws that up and broke this camel’s back. Now, I ain’t fit for human consumption." He jerkily shakes his head.

Aghast, Octavius’s gaze hardens. " ** _What_!** " he bellows, the single word echoing throughout the expanse of the room. "Where! Who! When!"

Jedediah shakes his head.

"It don’t matter. What’s done is done. I can't change it. Neither can you. Now you get why I'm coming undone at the seams? I can’t just forgive and forget because every time I look, I read that mean-spirited, hateful brand. It hurts my heart. Nobody owns me. Nobody!" He jerks his head, pupils blown. "Somebody’s gotta pay!"

"Hush, hush. You’re repeating yourself. Hush, now. Settle down and go to sleep. We will figure out a course of action once you let your mind rest and see reason again."

"There ain’t no  _we!"_ Jedediah snaps. "One uninvited grope don’t make us sweethearts!"

"Agreed," Octavius counters, the fight abruptly leaving him now that he understands the full scope of what set Jedediah off. It is reprehensible, unforgivable. "But you  _will_ stop dwelling long enough to rest. I will not lose my exalted adversary to madness! You will return to me. Whole. Not as some rambling halfwit."

"I ain’t no dummy! And nobody tells me what to do!" Jedediah shouts. Wearing himself out, he rolls his head from side to side. "If a good man can’t satisfy, I can be bad. I can be _real_ bad! At least then I'll live up, somewhat, to my no-good-rotten reputation. Earn my teeny, tiny blurb cred. If they want to hand out trouble, I can be trouble, too."

"No, you will not. You are talking nonsense. You haven’t slept in a week and are overtired. That is all this is. Go to sleep."

Jedediah makes a colossal effort to try and escape. Straining with all his might, he breaks Octavius’s hold, shoving him to the floor.

Bristling at the shove, Octavius pounces as Jedediah twists, attempting to crawl his way to his feet. Octavius hooks his arm around the side of Jedediah’s neck, beginning to lock him in for a sleeper hold.

"Enough! Stop fighting me and go to sleep!" he commands.

Jedediah claws at the air, gasping for breath, struggling desperately to break free.

Alarmed by the too-violent struggle, Octavius panics and immediately loosens his grip, but doesn’t unlock his arm. The sleeper hold, unlike the choke-hold, is nearly instantaneous and quite painless. Kind. Merciful. The theatrics could only mean one thing. His eyes narrow. "You’re faking!"

Training kicks in.

He hitches forward, bends his elbow, presses his forearm into the proper position, and locks his wrist with his opposite palm.

Jedediah doesn’t even have time to know fear. Correctly applied, three seconds is all it takes, and then there’s a sudden release of tension and Jedediah is well and truly unconscious.

Octavius immediately relaxes his hold, satisfied that Jedediah is — at last — asleep, and eases him to the floor on his back. Breathing a sigh of relief, and feeling a rush of empathy, he leans over and presses his lips against the tousled mop of blond hair — a quick peck — before pulling away.

"The next time you go wandering off on your own, half-mad," he warns with an arrogant lift of his chin. "When I find you, I’m singing you to sleep, you buffoon! It will be nothing short of torture." He exhales, and more gently, says, "Rest, now. All will be well."

Rising up, he staggers to his feet. And then he is stumbling backward, realizing that his legs won’t support his weight after such an extended battle. Spent, he slumps down beside Jedediah.

Panting, Octavius lifts his chin again.

"So that’s what it takes to put you down. Twenty armed men. A shotgun blast. Repeated stabbing. And a drowning," he says. His hand trembles as he grips Jedediah’s sleeve. "Jupiter, give me strength." With that, he lays his head down against Jedediah’s side and rests, too. 

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius gathers up the discarded journal and cowboy hat, plopping them on Jedediah’s stomach. He bends down, and snakes one arm under Jedediah’s back, the other lifting at the bend of his knees.

"Come along, Jedediah. It is not safe for us to remain on the floor."

He lifts with his legs, grunting from the strain of it.

Jedediah’s head lolls as he is unceremoniously hoisted into Octavius’s arms. Octavius juggles his burden for a moment, staggering, but does not fall. He adjusts to the extra weight and begins walking.

The earth trembles, and a shadow passes by overhead, but Octavius refuses to look, nor does he stop marching until he hears Teddy quietly clear his throat.

"Everything alright, my dear boy?"

Face grim, mouth set, Octavius refuses to allow his chin to quiver. He keeps his jaw firm.

Eventually, he replies, "Glorious."

"I thought I heard shouting." Teddy motions to Jedediah. "How’s the home life, son?"

Octavius slides his gaze to his burden, his fingers twitch, wanting to curl. He looks up and replies honestly.

"Complicated."

Teddy hums his reply.

"But you can't put up the white flag, Octavius." He swings his fist around manfully at the air. "Go for the gusto! It is only through labor and painful effort, by grim energy and resolute courage, that we move on to better things. Everything will fall into place like it’s supposed to. You’ll see, lad." When Octavius makes no reply, only keeps marching, Teddy brightens. The skin around his kind eyes crinkles up, those faded blue depths dancing a merry jig in their sockets. "Ever try couple’s counseling?" he asks helpfully. "I hear it works wonders."

Octavius finds the statement humorous, and he smiles wide — a quick flash of teeth — but he doesn’t laugh. "I will look into it. You have my gratitude." He sweeps his gaze around, brow crinkling. "You didn’t happen to witness a small white and brown speckled steed exit this room, did you?"

Teddy shakes his head. "I’m afraid not, dear boy."

Exhaling explosively, Octavius looks toward the ceiling for guidance. He glances down at his burden.

"One thing at a time, Jedediah. We will recover your horse once you are well."

Choosing not to dwell on what he can't repair at the moment, and repeating to himself that the hellbeast will be fine, Octavius searches for a safe, quiet place for them. He spies a large flower pot up behind Teddy’s shoulder. He jerks his chin. "Teddy, a hand if you please?"

"Oh! I beg pardon!" Teddy unmounts from his steed without ceremony and bends down. "Of course, my boy."

Octavius steps up into Teddy’s waiting gloved palm and continues his march as he is deposited into the safety of seclusion. "Thank you."

He lays his burden down and shifts Jedediah’s limbs until he’s resting in a more comfortable position. Octavius’s mouth quirks, remembering how Jedediah demanded his soft mossy soil. It might not be mossy, but it is soft enough, not dry dirt and sand. Not dead. It is an acceptable alternative.

Unclasping his paludamentum from his shoulder, he balls it into a makeshift pillow and lifts Jedediah’s neck to scoot it under his head.

Teddy raises something to his eyes and Octavius squints at the apparatus. He tilts his head in interest.

Noticing, Teddy raises his contraption. "Binoculars," he supplies. "They’re used to see over great distances."

Octavius hums his approval. "They would be quite the advantage in battle."

Grinning, Teddy elbows him gently. Very gently. "Or in love." He turns his attention to the glass prison. "If you’ll excuse me, lad, the hunt is afoot."

Octavius follows Teddy’s gaze. It lands on the richly-tanned woman behind the glass.

"What is her name?"

"Sacajawea."

"I’ve observed she has a compassionate heart. A true lady. And she is quite handsome," Octavius compliments, offering his edict of approval over Teddy’s choice. He turns his attention toward the sleeping Jedediah and arches an eyebrow back at Teddy. "If you prefer the dark-eyed, silent ones."

Teddy nods, smiles with obvious pride, and lifts his binoculars. He is oblivious to everything but her.

"Bless you, lad!"

Seeing that Teddy is occupied, Octavius moves over to Jedediah. Tentatively, he reaches over and ghosts his fingers along Jedediah’s forearms. Leaning closer, he runs his hands over Jedediah’s chest.

"Er... Octavius?" Teddy asks.

"Hmm?"

"Do you two need to be alone?" Teddy glances over to Sacajawea, fidgets uncomfortably, twists back around, and then fidgets some more. "Because I can come back."

"Don’t be ridiculous. Continue doing what you were doing," Octavius says, his fingers still ghosting along Jedediah’s chest. He moves up to Jedediah’s throat. He unties and slides the red neckerchief from his neck. Lifting blue fabric, he peers down Jedediah’s shirt.

"Because I must say, I’m feeling a tad uncomfortable at the moment, my man. Courtesy is as much a mark of a gentleman as courage."

Octavius stops what he’s doing and glances irritatedly up at Teddy. He observes the stiffened posture, and the way the good humor has departed from his eyes. Teddy looks scandalized and not a little judgmental.

Confused, he frowns.

And then Octavius takes a moment to consider how his actions must look to an observer. It would appear as though he were taking liberties with an unconscious man.

Octavius bristles, narrowing his eyes. "Do not be vulgar!" he chastises. "He informed me someone branded him. I’m attempting to locate this brand and determine the extent of his injury."

Glaring indignantly for a moment longer, he returns to his exploration unencumbered. With clinical detachment, he lifts Jedediah’s legs up, first one, and then the other, his fingers probing for any sign of puckered skin through leather. Octavius gently rolls Jedediah onto his side to caress his fingertips along his back, underneath his leather vest, but still reverentially, through fabric. Exploring, he lifts Jedediah’s hair to examine the back of his neck, and runs his hand up and down both wrists. He slides his thumb under gloves, brushes his hand along Jedediah’s clothed stomach, and skims his fingers up his sides.

He's felt nothing out of the ordinary. And there are certain places Octavius refuses to explore in any great detail out of respect for his adversary. He will not make that mistake again.

His fingers curl into tight, trembling claws at his failure. Mouth thinning into a frustrated line, he makes a desperate sound.

He’s ready to begin his methodical search again when he hears a softly spoken, "Octavius?"

Exhaling sharply, Octavius peers back up at Teddy. "What now?"

With a gloved thumb under his chin, fingers curled at his mouth, Teddy shifts and points.

"Check his boots, son."

Arching an eyebrow, Octavius grabs hold of Jedediah’s leg and bends it. " _Wham-Ho!,_ " he reads, and drops the limb. "Wham-Ho!?"

"It’s a toy and figurine manufacturer out of Texas, lad," Teddy supplies helpfully.

Octavius pulls Jedediah’s boots off to examine his feet, running his thumbs over them to see how severely the branding has bled through the boots and scorched into skin.

Nothing. The skin is unmarred. Perfect.

Octavius arches an eyebrow.

There’s a ten second delay before Mount Vesuvius erupts.

_Many centuries ago in Herculaneum…_

_Brains boiled inside skulls. Heads exploded. Bodies were instantly vaporized from the searing heat._

"Jedediah!" Octavius chastises. Bellowing, his hands ball into fists of pure, unadulterated aggravation. He trembles with it. Octavius stomps up and down, flapping his arms wildly. He might have even begun speaking in tongues, shifting his speech in and out of Vulgar Latin. "You fool!"

Taken aback by the miniature, albeit, quite virulent temper tantrum, Teddy retreats to safer ground and jumps up onto Little Texas’s saddle.

Octavius stabs his finger at Teddy.

"Murder him thrice and eventually he wakes up and brushes off the ordeal as though it were nothing but an inconvenience, a mere trifle. Debase the man’s footwear…" he growls, frowns, and then thunders to the ceiling, " _ **…and he loses all reason!**_ "

Teddy laughs nervously, eyes darting, and let’s Octavius rant until he winds himself down.

Fortunately, Octavius runs out of steam fairly quickly. He sits roughly and grabs his foot. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he observes the way Teddy pulls self-consciously at his dress uniform to hide his exposed wrist. Eyes narrowing, he asks, "Where do you hail from?"

Abashed, Teddy looks down. "Poughkeepsie," he says with a pained smile, and then his eyes dart away in shame. After a beat, he recovers and politely asks, "You?"

Face grim, Octavius checks his sandals. "I’m from the Uk." He pulls a face. "What an unappealing-sounding place," he mutters. He sticks his foot high in the air so Teddy can read the brand.

"That’s the U.K., son. It reads:  _Made in the U.K._ "

Octavius rises to his feet.

"Oh! Well, then, I’m from the U.K.!" Octavius boasts. Arms akimbo, feet firmly planted in triumph, he stands straight and tall. Octavius puffs out his chest with pride. He stills, pausing a moment to consider what that means and then frowns. "I have no idea where that is!" And with that, he arches an eyebrow and lifts his chin with as much haughty arrogance as he can muster. 

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius climbs down, retrieves his sword and dagger, and then climbs back up to the potted plant.

While Jedediah sleeps and Teddy silently looks on with love lights shining in his eyes over the lovely Sacajawea, Octavius worries at one of Jedediah’s boots with his blade.

Part of the brand contains a derogatory western slur. Octavius chips at the baleful lettering, determined to whittle it away. However, the brand is embedded deep into the bottom of the footwear. It is so deep that it's truly a wonder how Jedediah's feet escaped the branding unscathed. If he’s not careful, he’s going to drive his dagger into the sole of the boot and ruin it.

With an exasperated snarl, he tosses both the boot and dagger aside and leans his face into his hands in frustration. The task is impossible. The injurious lettering cannot be undone.

Refusing to accept defeat, he rubs his temples, considering the problem from all angles. It is then that Jedediah’s words from earlier echo in the back of his mind. Heart thrumming, he asks, "Teddy, do you know where I can find a heat source?"

Teddy stills and slowly turns to him.

"Why, my good lad?"

"Jedediah informed me that heat sources melt us. Is this statement accurate?"

Teddy nods, his eyes wary. He smiles, if a bit sadly. Gently, he says. "For most of us. I wouldn't recommend getting close, my boy. We lost Washington Irving and Mark Twain in 1967 when Twain knocked over a candle during a creative writing competition organized by some of the big name authors. We still don’t know whether it was on purpose or if he tripped." Teddy covers the side of his mouth with his gloved hand. "Irving was winning," he supplies in a whisper.

Octavius lifts his chin and grasps Jedediah’s boots.

"Right, then. Where is the nearest heat source?"

Teddy huffs proudly at Octavius’s determination, but still looks concerned. "I’d try the Neanderthals. They can get a fire going some nights."

Nodding his thanks, Octavius says, "Point me in the direction of the Neanderthal exhibit. If they cannot start a fire, I certainly can."

"Please, Octavius," Teddy laughs nervously. "Take care, my dear boy. Don’t get too close. I wouldn’t want to break the unfortunate news to your other half. He has a quick draw."

Octavius rolls his eyes, but doesn’t correct Teddy. "Only when he’s overtired or has been startled awake. I am gratified by your concern, but it is unnecessary. Will you care for him until my glorious return?"

Teddy salutes.

"Believe you can and you're halfway there. Keep your eyes on the stars and your feet on the ground, my lad! Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure...than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat."

Octavius nods his thanks.

"Do you need a hand down, my dear boy?"

Exhaling sharply, Octavius arches an eyebrow. "No. No, I do not."

He lands on the floor in a crouch, bounces up, and begins marching. 

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius is being hunted. He can sense it, feel it in his bones. A cold knot of dread forms in the pit of his stomach.

He hears a low growl and whirls around.

Octavius looks up, and  _up_ to observe the most enormous lion he has ever seen crouching forward on its front paws, tail flicking.

The beast rumbles.

Octavius scowls at the creature. After the night he’s had, he’s in no mood to be trifled with. So he employs Roman diplomacy.

"Do you have any idea who I am? I demand that you keep your distance, you beastly thing."

The lion growls, unimpressed.

"Right." Octavius unsheathes his sword. "Either decide whether you wish to eat me or let me be. But, I warn you to make your decision wisely. I am a man on a mission and not to be trifled with. I am reaching the Neanderthal exhibit and that is my final word on the matter!"

The lion roars.

Octavius exhales explosively, and then thwacks the lion on the nose with the blunt end of his sword for its temper and ill manners.

"Insufferable feline! I refuse to play the mouse to your monstrous cat!"

The beast hisses and tries to bat him with a gargantuan paw.

Rolling away from the protracted claws, Octavius shouts, "Bad kitty! You will stand aside!"

He lifts Jedediah’s boots up so the lion can take a good, long look.

"My nemesis is unwell and demands his boots back!"

Ears pressed flat against its head, the lion yowls.

Octavius rants. "I will not be cowed, you beastly thing. I am a Roman general and I do not fear you!"

The lion roars, startles, and then jumps back, wetting itself. Fur bristling, the beast, slowly inches back into the shadows.

Arms akimbo, Octavius stands in triumph. "That’s right. Know my wrath!" He gloats until he feels a tremble spike in the floor and suffers a jolt. He watches as the lion continues slinking its way back in terror. Exhaling sharply, he considers. "There’s something bigger behind me, isn’t there?"

Octavius is lifted off the floor as another tremor shakes the foundations beneath his feet. Slowly, he turns, and stops breathing.

Down the hall,  _Skeletor_ munches on a bone — a rib bone of some equally enormous creature — the remains of some foul beast. Trembling uncontrollably, Octavius gulps, whirls back around, and imagines himself invisible. He breathes long and low, clamping his eyes shut.

And then he thinks that this is no way for a Roman to behave.

"Right."

Stiffening his spine, he whirls back around and pulls his arrogance around him like a cloak. He lifts his chin to meet  _Skeletor's_ empty eye sockets. By some malevolent sorcery, _Skeletor_ sees Octavius as well. The beast drops the bone from its maw and drifts toward him.

Even the floor trembles in the wake of this creature.

Octavius allows himself one gulp. There seems to be no visible means to slay this monster. Impossibly held together by invisible strings of some strange enchantment, the bare bones hold no soft tissue to thrust his sword into. There is no way to kill something that is already dead. No way he can win.

Not to be cowed by such thoughts, Octavius rises forth to meet his fate like a true Roman and the leader of his people.

Standing, straight and tall, Octavius plants his feet, cowboy boots, and sword still in hand.

"Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through tonight? Any at all? You may slay me, _Skeletor_ , but you shall never defeat me!"

Octavius raises his sword as _Skeletor_ stalks forward and lowers its bare head, sniffing. When its jaws open, Octavius drops the cowboy boots and raises his hand in a last ditch effort to use the power of his will to push the creature back.

It is an unsuccessful attempt at mind powers.  _Skeletor_ continues its ghastly advance.

The beast stills when it brushes against Octavius palm. It rumbles low and soft, the sound vibrating through Octavius’s armor plated torso and out through his back.

Still rumbling,  _Skeletor_ leans gently into Octavius's hand, mindful of its immense size. Whining softly, it nuzzles Octavius's palm. Nudging him, the beast indicates its desire to be petted.

Like a puppy. An overlarge, very dead-but-somehow-alive puppy.

"You’re…" Octavius blinks, tilts his head. "…good?"

 _Skeletor_  rumbles again and gives a shudder as Octavius brushes the back of his hand against dry bone. Overwhelmed by the docile acceptance of his affection, Octavius can only gape in wonder. He stops petting the brute.

"Unbelievable..." Octavius brightens and bounces on his heels. "Jedediah must see this!"

Whining and desiring more of the gentle caress,  _Skeletor_ excitedly bumps Octavius off his feet.

Octavius shakes his head to clear it as the beast bounds away, only to return with its large bone in its jaws.  _Skeletor_ excitedly tosses the bone in the air and catches it, showing off his toy.

Rising to his feet, Octavius watches as  _Skeletor_ shakes his massive tail, signaling play. The action is almost enough to knock Octavius off his feet again, but he uses Teddy’s advice and plants his feet firmly on the ground.

With one more massive shake of his gargantuan tail,  _Skeletor_ drops the bone on Octavius, the weight of it toppling him back to the ground in a heap.

 _Skeletor_  opens his jaws wide in hopeful expectation and glances down at the bone. His tail shakes.

Indignant, Octavius raises his head and bellows, "I can’t play fetch with you, you ghastly thing! You must learn to differentiate size ratios!"

He bounces the back of his head against the floor. 

* * *

_Later…_

Bedraggled, he stumbles along, his sandals sticking to the floor. They make a wet clapping sound with every step he takes.

Octavius limps over to Teddy, boots in hand, and is lifted from the floor in a gloved palm.

"Mission accomplished, lad?" Teddy asks.

Octavius lifts his chin, but not arrogantly. Face grim, he says, "I have returned from battling the Neanderthals. Their quest for fire was a successful campaign."

Nodding, Teddy offers, "With self-discipline most anything is possible, my dear boy."

Octavius jerks his chin. "How does he fare?"

Jedediah has twisted onto his side sometime during the night, curled up into a ball. Octavius’s paludamentum no longer acts as a pillow, but as a blanket. Wrapped up securely, he sleeps soundly, no doubt dreaming of prairie dogs and cow pies, or other such nonsense.

"Out like a light, my good man."

Octavius hums.

"You have my deepest gratitude for remaining with him. He is quite the handful." He arches an eyebrow. Still not having fully recovered from his discovery, he adds, "And in more ways than one, I can well assure you."

"He’s been no trouble at all, lad. Quiet the entire time."

Octavius’s brow crinkles and he tilts his head. "You mean he doesn't talk in his sleep?"

Teddy shakes his head. "Not that I heard. Why? Is that unusual, my dear boy?"

"Never mind. I'm simply surprised."

Octavius exhales and collapses in a heap beside Jedediah, boots still in hand. Someone is going to have to pry them from his cold, dead fingers, at this point. After all that he has seen and experienced, he can’t bring himself to part from them. He’s been clutching them for so long and so tight, they’ve all but melded into his skin.

Teddy smiles down at him, warmth and humor sparking in his faded blue eyes. He sighs and lifts his binoculars, watching the lady behind the glass.

Octavius crawls to his feet and watches with him.

"You are a handsome man," he observes. "You are worthy and possessing of many fine qualities. Faithful and true of heart. A man’s man. And your eyes are the color of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Anyone would consider themselves fortunate to be held in high esteem by such a man. You should go and introduce yourself properly. She appears lonely and wanting of intelligent company."

Teddy sighs and drops his head. He tries for a smile, but can’t quite seem to make it come out right. "Indeed." He brings his gaze over to Octavius, eyes bleak. "We’re not really _them_ , you know. Those great people from history."

Octavius tilts his head, blinks, frowns, and cuts his eyes over to Jedediah. He’s grateful Jedediah is still unconscious and has not heard that remark. There is only so much a man can take, and Jedediah is already well beyond his limit. Considering for a moment, he returns his attention to Teddy.

"What if we are?"

"All we are," Teddy informs him gently, "are bits of wire, plastic, and sculpted wax, my lad."

Octavius lifts his chin. "That is merely one man’s opinion."

"If you were to cut me open, I won’t bleed. Wax."

"Then believe harder. We miniatures bleed, I can assure you. Our hearts beat. And it is my belief that we are precisely who we claim to be. Faith, Teddy." Perceptively, he lifts his eyebrows and murmurs, "And you are diverting the conversation from the matter at hand. A clever stratagem of a highly-intelligent, thinking individual. Not a _thing_ made of wax."

Teddy glances down before returning his gaze to Sacajawea. Sadness flickers in those great depths. He starts to speak. Stops. His entire body language radiates defeat.

"She can’t hear me, lad," Teddy finally manages. "The glass gets in the way."

Octavius watches Teddy speculatively for a moment before peering at the lovely, albeit, irritated-looking Sacajawea. Although, he cannot blame her for the irritation; if he were trapped with men such as Lewis and Clark, and forced to listen to their incessant battles over directions, he would have torn his hair out ages ago, or threatened to thwack them over their moronic skulls if they didn’t cease their caterwauling.

He glances over at Jedediah in sympathy. Lifting an eyebrow, he realizes he may need to thwack them, regardless. He returns his attention toward Teddy.

"If the love of my life were trapped behind a wall of glass, I know what I would do. There would be no hesitation." He places a comforting hand on Teddy’s arm, offering what support he can. Balling his hands into fists, he says, "Break the glass, Teddy. Break the glass."

Teddy’s chin quivers. Unshed tears makes his eyes shine a startling, vivid shade of blue; they are so very much alive. He nods his head jerkily.

_"...one...day…"_

"Good man." 

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius awakens with a jolt.

Someone is screaming and shouting.

With a gasp, he bolts up from his curled position inside Teddy’s breast pocket.

He makes his frantic assent and pokes his head out of the opening to watch Jedediah topple end-over-end from the opposite uniform pocket, land and roll out of Teddy’s outstretched palm, fall onto Little Texas’s neck, and tumble over the steed's side.

Jedediah crashes to the floor with a hard thwack. He peers up and rubs his tailbone.

Bouncing to his feet, he glares at Teddy.

 _"Dagnabit!"_ he shouts, pointing his finger in warning. " _I won’t be manhandled!"_

His hair is a tousled mess, mussed, and springing up at odd angles, but his blue eyes are clear and aggravated. Gloriously aggravated.

"Jedediah!"

Jedediah stills. Cutting his gaze over, he shouts, _"Octavius!"_

An electric jolt surges throughout Octavius’s entire being. His pulse quickens at the sound of his own name. His true name.

"You’ve returned!"

 _"Obviously!"_ Jedediah shouts in aggravation and rolls his head with a squint. _"‘Tavius! Sorry I conked out on ya last night! Geez! How embarrassing! Obviously needed it, though! Musta slept like the dead ‘cause somebody came along after you left and buried me in the mustachioed horseman’s breast pocket!"_

Still squinting, he jabs his finger up again at Teddy in warning to keep his distance. Teddy looks on abashedly and lifts his gloved palms in surrender. Jedediah slides his gaze back toward Octavius.

_"And while I was out, that sneaky-sneak stole my dad-gum boots!"_

With a scowl, Octavius drops back into Teddy’s pocket and digs out Jedediah’s footwear. "I have your boots, you buffoon!" He flings the boots down, aiming for Jedediah’s thick skull. "We are now both **_free_** men!"

Jedediah dodges, but still manages to catch both boots in the air before they can thwack him upside the head.

He turns the boots over and stills.

Jedediah stares up at Octavius with wide blue eyes. There is no branding on either of his boots. The baleful lettering has erased itself, as if by magic, as though it were never there to begin with.

When Jedediah squints, slack-jawed, Octavius also produces and flings both Jedediah’s hat and his journal out of Teddy’s pocket. The journal lands with a smack, whereas, the Stetson flutters down at Jedediah’s feet.

Octavius scowls back down and waits expectantly.

Jedediah drops the boots and bends at the waist. Palming the journal into his back pocket, he picks up the hat and puts it on. He grips his belt.

_"Well, alright, then, partner! Stop with your dang glowering. God, you're cranky tonight! Like a dang bear when you first wake up, ain'tcha! Figured you would be! Don’t go gettin’ your panties all in a bunch over nothin’!"_

Octavius blusters, irate.

Quirking his mouth, Jedediah raises his gloved index finger and points up at Octavius in respect.

Octavius loses his bluster. Smiling wide — a quick flash of white teeth — he returns the gesture. And then, he catches himself and frowns.

Sternly, he shouts, "I am a Roman general! I will do what I like, when I like, barbarian! And if I want them in a bunch, they stay in a bunch!"

When Jedediah smiles up at him, the skin around his eyes crinkling with good humor, Octavius’s fingers curl around the rim of Teddy’s breast pocket and he has to steady himself. He settles back against Teddy's chest and huffs out relieved laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: The real Jedediah Smith was a very devout man. He was a Methodist and knew his Bible every which way to Sunday. The historical Octavius would not have known the King James Version of “The Lord’s Prayer” — otherwise known as the 23rd Psalm, but he might have known about the Shepherd of Israel, also known as the Judeo-Christian God. Also, Octavius knows about Pompeii in the third movie, so, in this story, I figure Octavius could have heard some version of “The Lord’s Prayer” and understood enough of Jedediah’s words to recognize it. Octavius’s daughter, Julia, was a real-life figure of history. Her tale is very sad. I will not cover the historical account of her in any more detail in this fic, but if you wish to look her up, she is known as Julia the Elder. Also, to my knowledge, Jedediah had no wolf, but he might have had. It is also pure speculation on my part that he was drowned, but he did die at a watering hole and was first shot, and then lanced to death by a Comanche party even after he signaled his intentions were friendly. I think the drowning adds a little to it, especially from what we know of NATM 2. Gives it a little more umph, don’t you agree? 
> 
> None of us write in a vacuum, and I have a couple friends to thank. First of all, thank you, the readers, for continuing on this journey with me. Your encouragement brightens my day and continues to inspire me to keep this puppy going. Many thanks go to [ecto_gammat,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ecto_gammat/pseuds/ecto_gammat) who has gone above and beyond, helping me by supplying her old notes on famous Roman authors, along with historical research, specifically as it pertains to the Central Pacific Railroad Company, and who was patient with me when I practically tackled her through my internet connection, shouting, “Holy crap, dearest! I think you just cracked the code! Hot damn!” and then failed to explain myself when she advised me to change Jedediah's age in my fic with only a cryptic-sounding, "No, I will not change Jedediah’s age in this story. We’re talking history here, baby! You'll see, you will ALL see!" Followed by megalomaniacal laughter. Many thanks also go to her because I asked her, out of the blue, to google Manifest Destiny because I wanted to know if she felt I interpreted its meaning correctly. She dropped everything and skedaddled. Also even more thanks should go to both her and [Cicerothewriter,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicerothewriter) for their Latin expertise. I'm like a gigantic, floppy-eared puppy-dog when it comes to Latin. I just grin my big, slobbery grin and look on adoringly as they rock my world with their mad ancient language skills. This was beta'd by the lovely [plaidshirtjimkirk,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk) because plaid is love. If you like the fandoms any of these individuals write for and enjoy their storytelling, please show them some love.
> 
> I would also like to direct your attention to the truly breathtaking and beautiful fan art was made for me. And I am still over the moon! You should definitely check it out. You will be glad you did. The artist is [rimuray.](http://rimuray.tumblr.com/), and her exclusive Jedtavius Fanart Tumblr page: [rimuray.](http://rimudrawsjedtavius.tumblr.com/) Rimuray is also [here ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rimuray/pseuds/Rimuray) on AO3. Thank you so, so much! I am stunned, humbled and honored. And extremely proud. Beautiful. Simply beautiful.  
> If you like the artist's work, please show them some love!
> 
> ❤
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own.


	6. Get Along Little Doggies, Part One

_Later…_

Jedediah whistles beside him. They both stop walking and tilt their heads, listening intently for an answering whinny or the clop of hooves.

It is a long wait.

"I can't believe you didn't think ta' tether the horse," Jedediah says. Grimly, he scuffs the floor with the heel of his boot.

The aggravated tone is almost gentle, a far cry from the anger and near-hysteria of the night before. The chastisement still grates.

They've been searching for the hellbeast for what seems like hours now with little success and patience has begun wearing thin on both sides. Rather than talking _to_ one another, they are sniping _at_ each other every so often.

This particular accusation strikes too close to home and gnaws at Octavius. He isn't used to feeling guilty. Nor is he accustomed to being called out on his actions, except by Jedediah, of course, which he _is_ used to, but even now his tolerance for that is wearing thin. The longer they go without finding the steed, the worse he feels and the more defensive he's becoming about the entire affair, losing the battle with his temper.

He hadn't thought to tether the blasted beast. The horse's welfare had been the farthest thing from his mind. When pressed, he couldn't even recall when Sweet Pea bolted or in what direction she went.

He's perceptive enough to realize Jedediah is simply concerned about his horse and that taking it out on Octavius merely acts as a balm, quelling his frustration. However, the admonishment wounds his pride, offends, infuriates, and shames him simultaneously. _  
_

_Because it's true._

However, he refuses to take all of the blame onto himself. He is no martyr. Jedediah has some guilt in all of this, too.

Back straight, Octavius bristles and folds his arms over his armor-plated chest.

"I have already offered my apologies for not properly securing the hellbeast. But I warn you," he says, face tight. "I will not do so again. I will not allow _you_ or anyone else to shame me. I blundered. It was an honest mistake and not one born out of maliciousness or spite. Simply inattentiveness. I had far more important and pressing matters on my mind other than your damnable steed."

His tone is harsher and the words more honest than intended.

Jedediah stills and cuts his gaze toward Octavius.

For his part, Octavius fixes his gaze on his fingernails, picking at each of them with his thumb stubbornly, but still keeps his attention trained on Jedediah, if only peripherally.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Jedediah studying him thoughtfully.

Something between an apology and gratitude flickers behind Jedediah's eyes. Sheepishly, he rubs at the back of his neck. After a breath, he drops his arm. When he's finished, he's back to looking annoyed, setting his hands on his hips. He scuffs at the floor again with his boot.

A few more seconds tick by before Jedediah returns his focus on their course and begins walking slowly, head bowed in contemplation.

The matter is dropped.

"Well, come on, then," he says.

Octavius pays no heed, refusing to budge. Irate, he holds on to his anger, and more importantly, his stubbornness. He will not tolerate being ordered about. Instead, he keeps his legs planted and his chin firm. Only briefly does he allow his gaze to wander over Jedediah's finely sculpted backside. Darting his gaze away, he puffs his chest out with a sniff. He definitely does not appreciate the way the brown leather breeches hug invitingly to Jedediah's rump as he walks.

Unaffected, Octavius casts his eyes toward the opposite wall. In a colossal effort of will, he begins rocking on his heels. Arms behind his back, he blows out a loud breath, refusing to follow after Jedediah like some domesticated canine, or even worse, a bleating sheep. He has his pride.

"Hey, Octy!" Jedediah calls and pivots. He walks backward in order to face Octavius.

Octavius’s shoulders stiffen, fingers curling behind his back.

"I ain't got all night. Get your wiggle on, compadre." Without missing a step, he pivots back around and continues walking at a brisk clip.

Octavius narrows his eyes. Jedediah is back to using nonsensical turns of phrases. _And_ Octavius realizes, belatedly, he prefers the deliberate mispronunciations of his name to some of the monikers he's being saddled with now. _  
_

_Octy_ is such a harmless, impotent-sounding name.  Not a name to inspire awe or even respect. He doesn't like it.  

Not at all.

Arching an eyebrow, he suppresses his irritation and allows his attention to drift back over toward Jedediah.

And slowly loses his scowl.

Strands from Jedediah's tousled mop peek out from underneath his wide-brimmed hat and are bouncing freely with every step. His leather vest clings to his back in the most understated and gloriously appealing fashion; the curve of his shoulders is attractive, and those leather breeches must have hypnotic properties because Octavius can't seem to drag his eyes from them.

Absently, he tilts his head, expression softening. His defenses waver, wobble.

Ruffled feathers aside, Octavius concedes to himself that it _is_ his fault the steed is missing. And he doesn't even want to imagine what unknown danger that uncouth, exasperating man might find himself in without Octavius there to watch over him. Coupled with this notion is the knowledge that Jedediah is unarmed and essentially defenseless out in this new, strange world they find themselves a part of. It would be dishonorable to leave him alone to his own devices under these circumstances.  

A spark nips his under-utilized conscience.

Octavius dreads to think about what will happen if that monstrous lion stalking these halls caught up to Jedediah. The fool would, no doubt, attempt to ride the blasted creature and be devoured.

He feels a renewed ache at the thought of such an occurrence.

Not that he cares, mind. Not a whit.

It would simply be a waste after all the time and bother Octavius has put into that stubborn man. He doesn't care for the idea of facing down some new Western opponent in battle and certainly doesn't want to deal with Silas or his mouth or any of the other cowboys. Only Jedediah. Only _him_ , always. He stubbornly presses his lips together.

Trembling, his resolve begins to crumble.

Octavius is struck by a flash of insight. Jedediah is dead to this world — forgotten, discarded, and alone. The man quite literally has no one.

The thought spurs a protective impulse, and Octavius draws in an uneven breath.

His conscience ignites.

Cursing in his own tongue, he refuses to hop up and down in aggravation; it's a very near thing.

"Blast!"

Foiled, Octavius curls his hands into fists.

Almost of its own volition, his arm lifts, stretching out.

"Jedediah!" he calls. "Stop! Wait for me, I'm coming!"

Jedediah halts and looks over his shoulder.

Octavius hastens forward, trotting to catch up.

Jedediah's mouth quirks up slightly. The action causes Octavius to scowl. So perhaps he was no better than a bleating sheep. He continues glowering, and says, "Not one word. Not a single word."

"Fine."

His eyes narrow to slits and he whips his gaze to the opposite wall so he doesn't have to see Jedediah's, no doubt, smug expression.

"I may find you intriguing, even amusing, heathen, but it still doesn't mean I like you," Octavius declares with a proud lift of his chin.

Jedediah nods his head once.

"Mmm-hmm."

"I'm glad we understand one another."

"Yup."

Octavius meets Jedediah’s gaze with a sneer.

They walk as a single unit, matching the other man's stride through the cavernous hallway and continue their search in silence.

* * *

_Later…_

Every once in a while, they dodge out of the way as a much larger being ambles, clomps, or races past them.  Captivated, they stare up at each new interloper that crosses their path with renewed wonder.

There is a minor tremor in the floor, and then a gigantic elk lumbers overhead. They stop to marvel at its sheer size as the beast passes. Then Octavius trades a glance with Jedediah, who looks equally as spellbound. The creature is not even remotely as large as _Skeletor_ , but it is still impressive considering their own size. They continue sharing an awestruck look, but don't speak to each other.

They start walking again.

After a while, Octavius frowns at the uncharacteristic silence.  Tilting his head, he watches Jedediah speculatively for a beat.

This hush they've fallen into is strange and foreign. Alien, even. However, it is not an unwelcome change. Unlike the night before, when the quiet signified the calm before the storm, this silence is companionable.

Frowning, Octavius returns his attention toward their path. As they walk, Octavius contemplates his debate with Teddy and his growing certainty that they are not simple constructs. If they were, he haphazards their memories would match the stories written about them here in the museum.

Theoretically, this certainly wouldn't be the case with Jedediah. By his own admission the Jedediah Strong Smith held captive within the pages of the library is cruel. This man, although quiet and reserved, is someone he's caught passing glimpses of over the years. Someone who is also, impossibly, entirely new, but he certainly isn't cruel. Far from it. Brushing aside these whirling thoughts, Octavius realizes they are still mired in silence.

Until last evening, he's never witnessed Jedediah so withdrawn into himself. Although the silence remains companionable, Octavius still prefers the talkative Jedediah, aches for him in fact, wanting the Jedediah he's always known to bridge the silence between them.

As though reading his thoughts, Jedediah scrunches up his face and swivels his head.

"Hellbeast?" he finally asks. And along with stern annoyance, there might be the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

"That steed is a menace," Octavius replies simply, deadpan. "The hellspawn quite literally blazes trails of fire in her wake."

Oh so innocently, Jedediah raises his eyebrows. They disappear underneath his hat.

Octavius gives him a sharp look.

"Don't know what you're bellyaching about." After a beat, he huffs and adds, "She's a perfect sweetheart for me. Then again, I named her what I did for a reason." He turns his head. The side of Jedediah's mouth curves upward in a small, knowing smile. His eyes spark, and dance in merry rhythm inside their sockets. "Psychology."

Octavius's mouth quirks up slightly.

"On the subject of names..." Jedediah clears his throat and slides his gaze toward Octavius. "I've been meanin' ta' tell ya. You don't have ta' keep callin' me Jedediah. I realize it's a mouthful, and all," he says a little self-deprecatingly. "You can just call me Jed iffin ya want," he offers. "Everybody does."

Octavius cuts his eyes over, appreciative of the extended olive branch. That is until he sees something behind Jedediah's eyes flicker, calm and knowing and resigned.

He finds it odd that none of Jedediah's people call him by his given name. He doesn't think highly of this, finding the practice lazy.

Contemplating for a moment, he considers, and extends an olive branch of his own.

"Jed is a rather humdrum alternative, is it not? Dull. Muted. Lifeless. I do not approve. You have always referred to yourself as Jedediah. Therefore, Jedediah is what I intend to call you."

Octavius's mouth curves in response to the stunning smile he is graced with.  For a moment, he thinks that smile may even rival the sun.

Blinded, Octavius can only share in the moment until Jedediah casts his eyes down. Absently, he wipes at the side of his face.

"There is nothing there," Octavius reminds him kindly. He shakes his head. "No scars."

Jedediah stills as though he hadn't realized what his gloved hand was doing, and then he slowly drops his arm. He brings his eyes up, studying Octavius thoughtfully.  

"Y'know. You ought ta' consider smiling more. It’s a good sight better than all that glowerin'," he offers, returning kindness for kindness. "Don't know if anyone's ever told ya, but you just light up like the dad-gum Fourth of July. Almost like you're a different person. Lit from within, I’d call it. S'nice.” Jedediah turns his head, and then turns back. “I like it."

Octavius stills at the observation and instantly brightens at the unexpected compliment — a quick flash of white teeth — a lopsided smile, his eyes soft.

Jedediah points. "There. Right there. That's the one."

Octavius jerks. Caught, he loses his smile and lifts his chin. Eyes suddenly glittering, he pulls his arrogance toward him like a shield.

Swiftly, he turns on his heels and begins marching.

"Thank you," he says politely, his tone businesslike. "I shall keep your observation under advisement."

Jedediah lengthens his steps and eventually Octavius shortens his. Each match the other stride-for-stride until, as though by unspoken agreement, they both slow down.

Jedediah's movements take on a languid quality. After a few beats, he rekindles their conversation.  He tilts his head, speaking out of the side of his mouth.

"It ain't the horse doin' all the sparkin'. It's her shoes," he says. "If you were ta' check her hooves you'd see 'em. The iron shoes protect her hooves from wear and tear. Provides better traction. Improves her gait. Keeps her healthy. Ain't nobody for sure who invented the first ones —"

"Romans, obviously, you fool," Octavius interrupts.  He puffs out his chest with pride and arches an eyebrow, daring Jedediah to challenge his assertion.   

Not to be disappointed, Jedediah brazenly snorts. Amiably, his fingers curled around his belt, he contradicts without missing a beat.

"Actually, a lot of folks think it was the early Asian horsemen." He stops to consider. "Although, I heard tell that Romans _did_ invent somethin' called hipposandals. They acted like early horseshoes, I reckon.  A combination of leather and metal. They could be strapped on and off, all quick-like in case of battle. A little after your time, I expect..."

As Jedediah opens up, he teaches, lectures, and informs. Never at rest, his hands wave around wildly as he talks. Octavius's smile is warm, and he has to stifle back a laugh at Jedediah's animated excitement over his subject matter. So perhaps the new Jedediah isn't so different from the old one, or vice versa.

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah lectures, still. Only this time he's moved on from horseshoes, to his favorite subject: The Lewis and Clark Expedition. And it is no lie that Jedediah truly is an expert. Only now, there is little rancor in his tone except for the obvious glee he takes retelling anecdotes centered around the misfortunes of Meriwether Lewis.

The man clearly had no business being an explorer in uncharted territory. He was a danger to himself. Somehow, he managed to fall off a cliff, poison himself while taking mineral samples, and spent several nights incapacitated. Laid low by a drug fever, he was hounded by bizarre hallucinations and imagined beasts.

Jedediah doesn't pull his punches.

"He deserved it," he insists with conviction, as more anecdotes flow freely from his mouth in a tide of breath.

He kicks the toe of his boot against the shiny surface of the floor, but he doesn't elaborate — merely goes on to say that Lewis was priggish, volatile, aloof, pretentious, moody, high-strung, hypersensitive, and suffered from excessive vanity and self-punishment.

"And he was a horrible speller, ta' boot," Jedediah says, sounding more provoked by _that_ than anything else. "He spelled  _mosquito_ at least fifteen different ways in his journals."

Lewis had a mercurial temperament, and according to Jedediah, went out too far, too soon, into the wild, and had trouble readjusting back into society.

Octavius doesn't press for details, but Jedediah keeps providing example after example.

For most of his life, Jedediah idolized both explorers. Now that he's read opposing narratives that countermands their journal entries, their larger-than-life personas are breaking down. He is humanizing them and finally accepting their flaws.

Octavius supposes Jedediah is shattering glass of a sort.

He thinks this may be healthy, even healing, so he listens without comment.

Head down, brows knit together, he keeps his hands clasped behind his back. He remains alert for signs of agitation, but otherwise remains silent, allowing Jedediah the opportunity to talk and purge the remaining venom from his system.

Octavius takes Jedediah's word without reservation that Lewis was not up to the task of being an explorer.

He's been cautiously learning to trust Jedediah, learning over the years that a cowboy's word is his bond. Or, at least, this one’s is.

Jedediah hadn't steered him wrong concerning the effects of fire. In fact, his knowledge of the hidden dangers both in _and_ outside of the museum had been freely given.

Octavius has known many a leader of lesser character without the decency to set aside differences to behave in such an unreserved manner. They would have jealously guarded those secrets, allowing the Romans to discover the dangers for themselves with disastrous consequences.

With that thought in mind, his respect for his adversary only grows.

"He was mistaken for an elk and shot," Jedediah says.

"Hmm?" Octavius asks, his mind drifting back to their conversation. "Who?"

"Meriwether Lewis."

Octavius arches an eyebrow, his lips parting in a silent, _oh.  
_

"Is that how he died?"

Jedediah shakes his head. "'Fraid not." For a moment he appears troubled, as though going to say more. A chill seems to pass over him, and then he gives himself a shake. With a hum, he smiles. 

"Never go huntin' with a one-eyed, near-sighted, half-deaf old river man. Fine as cream gravy on water, the best fisherman. Not so much for huntin' on land. Especially when you're wearing buckskins," Jedediah says. "See, they were out huntin' elk when they decided ta' split up. And Pierre Cruzatte, the old timer, he don't see so good, or hear good neither, he catches movement in the brush, a bit of tan buckskin, and _\- BLAM_!" He pantomimes firing a rifle. "Up and shoots him right in the backside!"

Jedediah demonstrates the location on his own body.  "An inch below his left hip joint, right here," he says. "The rifle ball plows a three-inch gash through both cheeks, comes out the other side, and ricochets around in his leather breeches a spell. And he’s just dancin' it out, gettin' his boogie on with his own interpretation of the Texas Two-Step 'cause the rifle ball is scalding hot. Scorches his hind end up, good and proper."

"Anyways, Lewis starts cussin' up a storm, givin' him a right ripping-out, but Cruzatte don't answer, ya see. So then he's thinkin' they've been attacked by a band of unfriendlies and dives headfirst for the bushes, all Meriwether Lewis: Wilderness Commando, hair full of twigs, stickin' out at odd angles, and his face painted with mud, crawlin' around like a crab in the brush while Cruzatte is hidin' in the woods, shakin' in his boots, afraid ta' come out and own up ta' what he done. Scared that old boy somethin' fierce!"

Octavius trembles, unable to hold onto his scowl, desperately fighting not to laugh. He can't. With one hand, he clutches his armor-plated torso and with the other, he grabs hold of Jedediah's wrist, and bursts out into rich, rolling laughter. And wonder of all wonders, although muscles bunch under his fingertips at the unexpected grab, Jedediah allows his touch.

"Never would admit he shot him even though they found the bullet still lodged in Lewis’s breeches. It was from the same U.S. Army rifle carried by Cruzatte. Stubborn old coot. Stuck to his guns, though.  Got ta' give him that. Nope. Not him, he didn't do it," Jedediah says with a shake of his head. "They had ta' hook up a special contraption to carry Lewis behind his horse for the rest of the trip."

Octavius wipes at his eyes, gasping for breath, and finds he has to sit down.

"I wish I coulda been there!" Jedediah says, grinning at Octavius's mirth. "Now I think I woulda shaken that old boy's hand."

"I wish I could have joined you…"

* * *

 

_Later…_

William Clark fares better in Jedediah's anecdotes, but he was the resident whiner of the group. While never in front of his men, Clark complained freely in his journals. From Jedediah's retelling, Octavius observes that Clark was the more gallant, calmer, and less troubled of the pair.  

Clark even looked after Jedediah's new hero, Sacajawea, protecting her from abuse at the hands of her brutal common law husband, a French-Canadian fur trader by the name of Toussaint Charbonneau.

"Charbonneau had been givin' her a right lickin' — "

"Licking?" Octavius asks, brow arched. He frowns.

Jedediah squints. "Um, lacing. Slogging?"

Octavius shakes his head.

"A beating, Octavius. A thrashing."

Understanding dawns, and Octavius's lips part in a silent, _ah._  "Please, continue."

Good humor prevalent in his eyes, Jedediah coughs, masking a soft laugh. He dips his head, grinning wide.

Octavius tilts his head at the action. He isn't certain, but he suspects Jedediah may find his politeness an amusing trait.

"So anyways, Charbonneau's beating her when Clark swoops in like a white knight of old and steps between ‘em," Jedediah says. "The journals never go into any real detail on what happened next, but I'd like ta' think Clark gave Charbonneau a good whuppin' for such ungentlemanly-like behavior. Evidently, Charbonneau never dared beat her again after that."

"Did Sacajawea show her favor toward him as a result of his intervention? Were they intimately involved afterwards?" Octavius asks, stricken, thinking of Teddy.  Hands behind their backs, they continue sauntering, stopping every once in a while to peer silently around corners and listen for Sweet Pea.

Jedediah uses caution now and good sense, opting for stealth rather than whistling for her, uncertain what danger they'll encounter lurking behind the next corner.

Jedediah stills and gives him a funny look. "Weren't like I was there, Octavius."

Octavius shakes his head and frowns. "No. Please, stop."

Jedediah halts in his tracks, tilts his head. "What?"

"Speak properly," Octavius clarifies. "I know you can. Even I see how the other cowboys look to you to provide answers. They're perceptive enough to know. There's no need to hide how smart you are."

Jedediah squints, considering. "Enemies tend to underestimate ya if they think you're not playin' with a full deck."

"Yes, but you forget that _I_ already know you're intelligent. You'll have to devise a new stratagem with me."

Sighing, Jedediah doesn't mask his eye roll, but neither does he seem overly bothered by the correction.  " _Anyway_ , I _wasn't_ there, so I can't say with any real certainty. As best I can tell, they were only friends. But he did care enough about her to nickname her Janey and adopted her kids from Charbonneau  **—** Jean-Baptiste and Lizette **—** after she passed."

Frowning, and uncertain he wants to know the answer after Jedediah's big reveal from last night, Octavius asks, "How did she die?"

"Shrouded in mystery, mon ami," Jedediah drawls extravagantly, eyes glittering. "Nobody really knows. One account says she died in 1812 in the Dakotas of Typhus, or what we used ta' call putrid fever.  Another story claims she left Charbonneau and married a chief of a Comanche tribe and bore him five ankle-biters."

Octavius frowns.

"Ankle-biters. Nippers. Half pints. Small Fries. Kids," Jedediah says. "I hope, for her sake, she got her happy ending."

Octavius considers the thought of five Julia's and grimaces. He supposes happy endings come in all forms, but it would not be his first choice.

Oblivious of Octavius's train of thought, Jedediah continues, unencumbered. "I hope she found love and happiness in the end. Didja know that the Comanches branched off from the Shoshone people?  Only the Shoshones preferred to hide, whereas the Comanches were more aggressive and warlike."

Octavius raises his eyebrows at the understatement, considering Jedediah's own fate at the hands of the Comanches, but remains silent.  

"She was born the daughter of a Shoshone chief..."

* * *

_Later..._

"Didja know that Sacajawea's name translates to _Bird Woman_?"

Octavius shifts his eyes to Jedediah, expression deadpan. He's learned more than he ever cared to about the Lewis and Clark Expedition. 

In very short order, his brain is full to bursting, filled with random trivia such as that Lewis and Clark described one hundred and seventy-eight plants and one hundred and twenty-two animals in their journals previously undocumented by science, including the grizzly bear. That Sacajawea is an American heroine and was practically royalty in her own right. That this is what all the various western factions call themselves. Not _cowboys_ , or _westerners_ , but _Americans._

He knows down to the last yard how far Sacajawea traveled with her eight week-old son on her back throughout the long, arduous journey.

If pressed, he can recite Jean-Baptiste's nickname, _Pomp_ , and its translation: " _Leader_."

He knows that it was _she_ who dove headfirst into a freezing river after their craft capsized on their journey. How she, while still clutching her baby in one arm, calmly rescued Lewis and Clark's records, compasses, journals, and supplies. Understands that truth is stranger than fiction — _this_ — because later in their journey, the Shoshone tribe appeared, showing up in the nick of time to aid the explorers like Greek gods of antiquity with their chief —  Cameahwait —  who by seeming divine providence happened to be Sacajawea's long lost brother whom she thought dead. How that, while Lewis and Clark never knew it at the time, the Spanish sent out four separate expeditions to try and stop them, and that all were "sent packin'" by the Shoshones — with the last failed attempt coming within one hundred and forty miles of them.

Octavius has learned that Sacajawea belonged to the Lemhi Shoshone people, who were called _The Snake People_ because of their tendency to cower low in the grass, leery of white strangers. Knows she was the only female in a band of thirty-two men on the expedition and it was _she_ they looked to for direction.

He has learned many things, such as there are seven different variations on how to spell her name — eight, if he counts Roman spelling — which he doesn't.

And he knows with absolute certainty the answer as to why Lewis and Clark were made big. It has nothing to do with _them_ at all. They aren't the ones being celebrated in that glass encasement. It is _she._ Sacajawea.  

Octavius shakes his head. He gathers his wits about him and blinks his eyes clear. Then, with mouth agape, he simply gawks at Jedediah from the tips of his Western boots to the top of the braided, black Stetson.

If anyone ever needs a history lesson on the _Lewis and Clark Expedition_ , he knows precisely who he's sending them to, and then he's running for dear life, in the opposite direction, before the coiled spring that is Jedediah is unleashed on the world.

He lets out a desperate sound.

" _Twelve_ books in a week, you say?"

Jedediah’s mouth quirks into a smile that is both gentle and mocking. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes are appealingly defined. Eyes gleaming, he folds his arms over his chest a little smugly. "And that was just on the _Lewis and Clark Expedition_!" he supplies with enthusiasm.

Still recovering, Octavius tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. He thinks he may need to sit down. Weakly, he smiles back.

"Hey, Ockie!”

_Ockie.  
_

Octavius silently mouths the new moniker and clamps his eyes shut. He shivers in distaste.

“Didja know that the native peoples mounted their horses from the right side and that cowboys mount theirs from the left?"

Octavius holds his face in his hands.

Well, he'd wanted Jedediah to speak.


	7. Get Along Little Doggies, Part Two

_Later…_

Eventually, Jedediah decides to let him off the hook.

"Relax, machismo," he says, a teasing note in his voice. "I’m messin’ with you. I done told ya I been studyin’ the _Lewis and Clark Expedition_ since I was fifteen. I know their adventures backwards, forwards, and sideways. What I didn’t know was that it was Sacajawea, not _them_ I was tryin’ so hard ta' emulate."

Octavius sags a little in relief and lets out a slow breath.

"So, you haven't read _twelve_ books in a week?"

Jedediah huffs. "Nope. I read them, alright. Stopped countin’ after that, though."

Octavius’s eyes bulge again, his lips parting in another silent, _oh._ He halts in his tracks, staring after Jedediah.

Jedediah has the audacity to turn and look over his shoulder. He smiles a ridiculous, knowing smile.

Octavius narrows his eyes, bristling, but then he's trotting to catch up again.

Growing serious once more, Jedediah slides his eyes toward Octavius, watching him. Searching. He seems to realize something's changed between them, but he doesn't know what. His blue eyes hold a spark of interest, dark and thoughtful. And then he turns his head to stare ahead of them down the hallway.

"All funning aside, I appreciate ya lettin' me get all that offa my chest, hoss," he says at last. "That was right neighborly of ya — _of you_. Plumb gracious, if you ask me." His expression grows distant, pensive with a touch of reserve, but then it vanishes again and his face is open. "I ain’t — _I’m not_ — one for sharing what I know. At least not when it comes ta’ — to — all the private stuff that interests me. I’m usually, mostly, all business back home."

They stop walking again.

Octavius doesn’t reply at once, watching Jedediah full on. Jedediah looks precisely the same as he always has, but Octavius is beginning to notice faint traces of scholarly introspection peeking out Jedediah’s gaze and marvels over how he never noticed it before.

It must be Jedediah’s slow, lazy drawl, Octavius decides. It is deceptive, making him sound simple, carefree, and largely disinterested with — well — everything. And yet, while the drawl remains, he’s correcting his speech on his own, allowing Octavius to hear the transition, words morphing effortlessly from uneducated to polished. A reward of sorts, he supposes. And there is an undercurrent of sincerity in his voice. Along with something that is neither wily nor feigned.

Their gazes lock, and there it is again. Jedediah gives him a curious once-over. Emotions flicker to life behind Jedediah’s eyes and are gone so fast that Octavius can’t quite keep up with them all, identifying only a few.

Gratitude. Surprise. Curiosity. Suspicion. Uncertainty.

Jedediah tilts his head and squints. There is a great question in his eyes, as though he’s fiercely attempting to puzzle out why Octavius would even bother — not only allowing himself to be subjected to the impromptu history lesson, but wondering as to his reasoning for coming for Jedediah in the first place.

They are enemies.

Only the missing piece of the puzzle is that Octavius no longer wishes for them to be so.

The war is over.

At last, Octavius inclines his head respectfully and surprises himself by answering Jedediah’s unspoken questions in earnest.

"I don’t mind."

Jedediah looks pleased, if confused.

"Listening to you is no hardship. When we Romans are not engaged in war, we are practical-minded, devoting our remaining hours to agriculture and simple survival. It leaves very little time for scholarly pursuits or entertainment. I enjoy learning new things and hearing your stories was...a pleasant change of pace," Octavius admits. He lets out a bark of wry laughter. "I would enjoy them even more if you would pause for breath and slow down every so often, however."

Jedediah laughs freely, and dips his head.

Octavius’s mouth tickles with a ghost of a smile, finding the action charming.

"I suppose I did go on for quite a spell."

Holding up his forefinger and thumb, Octavius measures the distance between them. "A bit."

"Can't help it. I like aggravating you."

Octavius grins at Jedediah and they both laugh, making their stilted conversation natural once again.

They are silent for a moment and then begin walking, each lost in his own thoughts.

"So tell me about the Donner Party..."

* * *

_Later…_

"I was a bit unfriendly toward them last night. Shouldn't judge, though." Jedediah saunters. He shrugs lightly, but the lightness seems feigned. After several heartbeats, he exhales and continues. "It was a little over fifteen years after my time, I reckon. Ain't pretty. Nothing funny about it. A bit gruesome, if you will. You sure you want to hear it?"

Octavius contemplates the question for a moment, and then nods with polite interest.

"Please."

With a sigh, Jedediah begins.

"My old friend, Manifest Destiny at work. And greed. What I gather from the mustachioed horseman, and from what little I read, a man named Hastings pulled the wool over these folks’ eyes. And I ain’t happy. He claimed my old way through the South Pass took too long. Offered shortcuts, for a price. It could be done, mind, by horseback. Had I still been around, I’d’ve warned ‘em all off. But I wasn't," he says with a shrug. "See, this new breed of adventurers forgot to figure for large covered wagons and travelers with families on this shortcut of theirs." He measures out the expanse of the wagons with his arms. Enormous.

Jedediah shrugs. "Because the wagons were so big, they had to hop off the beaten path and lost their way. Winter came early. The Paiute tribe slaughtered most of their oxen. They starved. Ate their shoes, their belts, their oxen-skin wagon covers, the buckskin fringe from their clothes, shoelaces, and their animals. Eventually became what the Algonquian peoples termed _Wendigo_ ," he finishes eerily.

"Wendigo?"

Jedediah turns to Octavius, expression grave. "They ate each other."

Octavius's lips part.

Jedediah shakes his head. "I suppose what I was tryin’ to say last night is that we’re safe from ‘em here. And they’re at peace now. They ain’t hungry anymore," he finishes, his speech reverting to old habits.

Feeling a chill pass through him, Octavius shudders and lifts an eyebrow. "I suppose they aren’t," he murmurs.

* * *

_Later…_

"You weren’t overly friendly to Teddy, either," Octavius interposes after a while. "You should consider apologizing for pulling your guns on him."

Jedediah waves a hand in a vague motion. "Bluff."

"He’s frightened of you."

"Good!" Jedediah bursts out, smiling humorously. "Somebody ought to be."

Octavius stops and reaches out just shy of grabbing hold of Jedediah’s arm.

"I’m serious. I realize the larger occupants of the museum upset you, but Teddy is an ally. He helped look after you last night. He’s your friend."

Jedediah crosses his arms, eyeing Octavius levelly.

"Some friend," he huffs. "If I hadn’t pulled my guns, we never would’ve known about fire or the part about being indoors after sunrise. He’s had plenty of time to fill us all in, but he never did. Never told us we were exhibits —"

"No doubt he was attempting to spare our feelings," Octavius cuts in.

"Oh, come on!" Jedediah throws up his hands. "Wake up, would ya? That mustachioed horseman has a bad habit of playing things close to the vest."

Octavius frowns.

"Close to the vest. Comes from Poker. It's a card game made up of skill, chance, and luck. A great tool for learning about people. Good for strategy. You'd like it." Jedediah exhales. "Anyway, you keep your cards close to your waistcoat or your vest—” He tugs at his own tan vest "—so that other players can’t see your hand. He has knowledge that he keeps to himself. Valuable, life-saving knowledge, 'Tavius. And he ain't big on sharing."

Octavius lifts his chin, his expression remaining stubborn. "I’m certain he has his reasons."

"You think I care?" Jedediah steps toward Octavius, voice steely. "What if you and your boys got curious? Or decided to expand? Hmm? You want to know where I was headed off to after I found my answers?"

Jedediah jabs his finger ahead of them.

"I was planning on high-tailing out of Dodge and toward the nearest exit. Planning on finding me a plot of dirt full of trees and birds chirping. Where I could feel the real sun on my back and look up into a sky that ain’t some endless, unblemished blue. Commune with the wind. See colors that ain’t all shades of browns and grays. I was planning on busting out of here and be back out in nature where I belong!" His voice breaks, but only for a moment. "And I hadn’t planned on coming back."

Octavius blinks, stomach twisting. Mind whirling in the knowledge given him, he swallows. Emotions prickle at the back of his throat.

Nodding, Jedediah adds softly, "That’s right, boy. And I wouldn’t have neither, would I? But not for the reasons I wanted to have happen. All I wanted was my nature, my wilderness. It’s _all_ I ever wanted, you understand? And I wouldn’t have _known_ any better, now would I? What happened next would've been all thanks to my so-called _friend,_ who _did_ know better but never saw fit to open up his dad-gum trap!" Jedediah spits out.

With that, Jedediah stomps off, leaving Octavius to gape after him, eyes hollow. Floundering, he opens his mouth to speak when Jedediah stills, tilts his head, gloved hand raised for silence — palm out.

Abruptly, Jedediah darts toward him at a dead run, pounding down the hallway.

Lightning surges through Octavius’s veins as Jedediah jumps into a diving tackle and he is driven off his feet, and slammed against the wall.

He is stunned mute by the sudden violence, only having time to think _not again_ , when he registers the arm that is slipped around his shoulder, a tense hand covering the back of his skull, and Jedediah’s tucked head against the side of his neck.

Pressed tight against him, Jedediah's body is rigid, and then Octavius feels what he hadn't before. Tremors rippling the floor. And then a gargantuan zebra gallops past, its monstrous hooves inches from trampling them both to death.

"Dagnabit!" Jedediah shouts. "Watch where you're going! You almost freight-trained us, ya overgrown, dad-gum stripey headhunter!" he calls after the brute.

For a moment, Octavius can still feel the vibrations pass through his armor and out his back after the zebra is long gone. Feels the weight of Jedediah on top of him, his skin tightening into gooseflesh. The sensation is not unpleasant.

"You okay there, hoss," Jedediah asks quietly.

Octavius drags in a slow, deep breath and takes inventory.

"Yes. Quite. And you?"

Jedediah appears a little wild around the eyes, but answers, "Might've got my chimes rung a bit. Clocked myself with my knuckles on the way down —”

"Klutz," Octavius grumbles, cutting in.

"Hey! None of that now," Jedediah admonishes in an almost-whine, cuffing Octavius on the back of the head. He shakes his head and rolls sideways, heaves onto toes and fingertips. From there he overcompensates and finds himself off-balance, toppling back onto his rump. With a groan, he splays out on his back like a delectable offering to the gods.

Octavius huffs out a shaky laugh, palm to his head.

"Got no complaints," Jedediah finally says. He rolls his head to the side to look at Octavius. "You?"

Octavius scrunches up his face. "You asked that already."

"Oh, yeah. Right. Yeah, okay."

Jedediah lifts his head. It’s a slow, deliberate movement, but then he groans again and drops his head back down when the action proves too much, too soon.

"Are you certain you're alright?" Octavius asks, worry creeping into his voice.

"Peachy. Honest. Clobbered myself, but good, is all. Hooves didn’t clip me. Just need a minute to shake it off." Jedediah exhales, and covers his face with his forearm.

Octavius nods to himself. He closes his eyes, settling in. They lay quietly for a moment. "Take your time." He pauses, lifts his head, and confesses, "I stayed because I felt honor bound to protect you from yourself." Chuckling, warm and low, he adds, "Didn’t realize that would entail preventing you from punching yourself in the face."

He can just make out the muffled reply.

"Suspected it was something like that," Jedediah admits, lowering his arm.

Realization dawns. Pausing to marvel for a moment, Octavius can only blink.

"You saved my life."

"Ain’t one for letting a body get trampled. Even yours. Though, I’d bet if that hoof clouted you on the head you’d shake it off just fine. I reckon it’s hard enough to withstand just about anything. Bullheaded. Stubborn. I ain't never seen the like." He jerks his head. "As for you feeling I need protecting, I ain’t no dainty flower."

Octavius laughs.

"I’m serious." Jedediah swats Octavius's arm.

"Ow! That hurt!"

Rolling his eyes, Jedediah scoffs, "Oh, come on. Don’t be such a baby. That did _not_ hurt."

"Yes, it did." Scowling, Octavius rolls over and pinches him hard in the side in retaliation. "Yes, it _did_!"

“— Ow! What in the Sam Hill!" Jedediah shouts, angles out of reach of Octavius’s fingers, thrashes his legs like an overturned beetle, rounds, and clouts him back even harder.

There’s an explosion of pain, and then —

"Ow!" Octavius winces, and rubs his arm. "Ow!"

"I ain’t no dainty flower!" Jedediah repeats with a shout.

"I know." Octavius says, holding up his palms. "I was laughing at your words. Not your meaning, you fool," he says.

He’s on the verge of allowing the wallop to pass without retribution, but then he glances down and notices the red mark on his arm where Jedediah struck him.

Octavius will not stand for being ill-used. Anger flares at the offense. Glowering, he cuts his gaze up, and sneers. "I _know_!" he says and brings the side of his fist down on Jedediah’s stomach.

"Gaaah!" Jedediah grunts, wheezes, coughs, and shouts out aggravated near-curses. "I don’t like you!"

"I don’t like you, either!" Octavius retorts. He raises his fist again out of reflex, instantly falling back on old habits.

Whipping his hat off, Jedediah grabs hold of Octavius’s wrist, fingers digging into nerves.

"Don't you do it, son. You best be settling down before I tan your hide!"

With defiant energy, Octavius glares and jerks his arm in an unsuccessful attempt to pull free. He braces himself, gathering strength for the headbutt of all headbutts, going as still as a serpent poised to strike.

"'Tavius!"

Octavius freezes.

"Settle down."

Their gazes lock and hold.

Scowling, Octavius still grimaces with offended pride, but the tension melts from his limbs.

Jedediah lets go.

By unspoken agreement, they push apart and fall into sullen silence, chests heaving.

Jedediah is the first to recover.

"If ya want to stay, then stay. If ya don't, don't. But don’t be staying out of any dingbat notions. I ain’t weak. I’m embarrassed enough you saw me in such a bad way last night, but I'm appreciative you stayed. I really am. It shows character. Not many have it."

"You did not leave me to my fate when I wasn’t myself. Any right-thinking individual who _wasn’t_ a complete buffoon would have used the opportunity to rid themselves of a much-hated rival. You didn’t. I was simply returning the favor," Octavius says, still sullen. "Do not read more into it than that."

Rolling his head to the side, Jedediah frowns, looks at Octavius for a long moment, and then stares straight ahead.

"Sakes alive. You are the most —" Jedediah blows out a breath. Throwing up his hands, he shakes his head. "Would you stop being so doggone defensive all the dang time? I was paying you a compliment. I swear Shakespeare would have loved you." He rubs his face. "Or, Ann Radcliffe. God!"

Octavius scowls, but says nothing.

Still shaking his head, Jedediah turns on his side. "There's something you got to understand about me, Oct. I’m stronger than you think I am."

Octavius harrumphs at the name. Jedediah has managed, yet again, to whittle it down. Three letters. He mouths this new moniker. Annoyed, he shivers, indignant, but remains silent.

Misunderstanding Octavius’s reaction, Jedediah points. "Don’t be giving me guff, boy. I'll only take so much. I’ve gotten by this long without any feisty Romans doggin’ at my dad-gum heels."

It is Octavius’s turn to roll his head.

"Had a Roman dogged your heels, as you put it, you might have lived a long, full life," he snaps. "Perhaps if I had been there, history would have played out differently. At the very least, you wouldn’t have died alone." Voice raw, he whispers harshly, "And you would have found yourself avenged afterwards."

Jedediah blinks at him, lips thinning. Swallowing, he watches Octavius for a few breaths longer, and then looks sharply away to stare at the ceiling.

"Weren’t your fight."

Exhaling, Octavius ignores the renewed irreverent speech pattern and decides to direct the discussion back on course.

"You should make peace with Teddy," he advises, softly. "In his own way, I believe he felt he was protecting us. He did not want to burden us with certain truths he’s lived with for however long he's lived with them."

Octavius turns his head. Continuing, he says, "He’s over thought everything, precisely as you do. It is my opinion he regrets his discovery and was simply trying to spare us the same turmoil with his silences, no matter how tactically ill-advised that choice may have been.

"It was careless on his part, perhaps, thoughtless even, but I’ve had plenty of firsthand experience with betrayal. There was no advantage to be gained from his silence. No malice. This was no betrayal." Octavius urges, "Forgive him. Now that we are aware of the dangers, we can instruct our people to act accordingly."

Jedediah huffs out a breath in annoyance, remains silent for a few moments more, but finally relents.

"I’ll think on it. Ain’t happening anytime soon, though, so don’t be hounding. I’m still hopping mad."

"What truly upsets you?" Octavius prods gently, without his typical judgment. "Is it the loss of your wilderness or his ill-advised silence?"

Pressing his lips together, Jedediah refuses to say anything.

Octavius takes a breath and nods. "That’s what I thought."

He allows the matter to drop. For now. He’s said his piece and given Jedediah pause, and that’s probably the best he can hope for at present.

"He thinks we’re together," Jedediah finally says.

Nodding, Octavius admits, "I am fully aware of that."

"I mean, like, _together_ -together. A couple."

Octavius’s mouth quirks, forming into the ghost of a smile.

"Worse. He thinks we’re hitched." At Octavius’s frown, Jedediah explains, "He thinks we’re married, Octavius! I mean. How in the _blazes_?" He shakes his head and whistles. "Crazy as a road lizard, that one! Gaaah! How are we ever going to live this down? I'm blaming you!"

Reining in the nearly explosive impulse to laugh, Octavius cuts his eyes from Jedediah, knowing his face is alight.

"I see that look and it ain’t funny!" Jedediah points. "He called you my _better half,_ for crying out loud! That ain’t even right!"

Octavius can just imagine the look on Jedediah's already irate face when Teddy hit him with that disclosure. Imagines the wide-eyed, spluttering panic — the blustering — coupled with a shocked annoyance. Screaming may have been involved.

And that was _before_ Teddy witnessed Octavius carrying him.

Octavius sorely regrets missing it. Oh, to have borne witness!

It must have been glorious.

This time, he does laugh, which earns him another swift swat for his trouble.

"There are far worse fates in this world than being married to me."

"That ain’t even the point here and you know it!"

"If it's any consolation," Octavius waves his hand, a declaration, an edict. "I am mortified. I prefer my spouses to have a bit more sanity about the eyes."

Jedediah whips his head. There's a question in his gaze clearly demanding whether or not Octavius is out of his _dad-gum_ mind.

Somehow, Jedediah has made even the _dad-gum_ a near-audible phenomenon, like a crack of a bullwhip or the rumble of thunder.

"If either of us is the better half of _anything_ here, it's me," Jedediah grouches. "Not the other way around." _  
_

"Yes, but _I'm_ not the one who pulled his weapons on Teddy," Octavius counters. He smiles grandly, his voice low and lilting. "Your argument is invalid." _  
_

_"Dad-gum-it_!"

Irate, Jedediah folds his arms over his chest and crosses his legs at the ankles. The action makes him resemble nothing if not a petulant youth.

Octavius finds it charming. A ghost of a smile tickles the corners of his mouth again. Brow arching in pure guile, his chuckle is warm and low.

"Let us not quarrel over semantics, _my pet_ ," he says with exaggerated pathos.

"I will smack you right in the kisser, baby doll, I swear to God!"

Jedediah is playing along now. Octavius decides they will be alright. He smiles at this new development, a true smile, one made up of all teeth. His laughter comes in short, hitching breaths.

He can keep the teasing going indefinitely, but wisely decides that discretion is the better part of valor under the circumstances. Instead, he chooses to store further comment for future battles.

The war may have ended, but the battles have only just begun.

The prospect is not unpleasant.

It will be glorious.

Shelving the topic, he studies Jedediah for a long moment. Frowning, he falls quiet and thoughtful. Anxious, he turns his face to stare at the ceiling. After a moment of contemplation, he turns back.

"Teddy is desperately in love with Sacajawea," he says, at last. His tone is low-pitched, the voice of a confidant.

Jedediah rolls his head at the unexpected news. Licking his lips, he squints and watches him without blinking.

"Oh, yeah?"

Octavius nods, apprehensive.

"How d’ya figure that?"

"I happened to observe his preference last night. When he looked at her, it was as though nothing else existed. I presume this is why he stopped visiting."

"Wow. You think? That’s been, like, forever ago." Mulling it over for a few seconds, Jedediah shrugs at last. "I reckon he best be coming up with a plan to bust her loose from Pokey right-quick then. Time’s a’wasting."

"I offered him that bit of advice," Octavius confesses. He cranes his neck. "You’re not disappointed?"

Squinting once again, Jedediah tilts his head.

"Why would I be disappointed?"

Octavius shrugs, a tiny gesture. "You’re fond of her."

"So? Fond of my momma, too. Never had any hankerings, so’ins ya know. ‘Sides which. She ain’t mine. Got no claim. May think the world of that woman — she’s my hero and all — but hanky panky?" He shakes his head and gives Octavius a funny look. "Plus, she's, like, a billion times bigger than me!"

"That’s an over exaggeration."

"Well, it ain’t like anything would ever be equal."

"And why not?" Octavius protests, wondering why he’s advocating the idea despite Teddy’s feelings. "It could work. We may be small, but our hearts are just as large as theirs. I daresay ours are more so."

It’s Jedediah’s turn to laugh.

Octavius darts his eyes to the opposite wall with a scowl. "I'm not speaking literally, you fool."

Still laughing, Jedediah grins, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

"I’d hope not, toga boy. Otherwise you’re going to be mighty disappointed when you climb back down from the clouds. Which is where I’d have to climb _up_ to just ta’ look her in the eyeball. Lord help me if she sneezed!"

"What if size were no longer an issue?" Octavius prods. Turning on his side, he uses an elbow to prop his head up with the palm of his hand. "What, then?"

"It is what it is." Jedediah shrugs away the question as though unimportant. And then he squints. His lips thin. "What’s with all the dad-gum questions, anyhow? You're being awfully squirrely about this. I don’t have a mind to make any trouble for the mustachioed horseman if that’s what’s got you wringing your hands. At least not over something so doggone silly as _that_. Not filling us in on how to avoid getting ourselves dusted?" He waves a hand. "Maybe, but not _that._ "

"That isn’t why I’m asking," Octavius says softly, and lifts his eyes.

At his words, Jedediah blinks. Opening his mouth, he closes it again.

"And you claim you don’t like me."

"I don’t," Octavius denies, adamant. "Not a whit."

"Mmm-hmm. I can sure tell."

Octavius bristles, stubbornly snapping his mouth shut.

Jedediah snorts, but not unattractively.

"Don't fret. It wasn’t like I was made to be anybody’s sweetheart. ‘Sides," he says with a shrug, "you can care for someone plenty without being _in love_ with them. Didn't your momma ever teach you that?"

Octavius shakes his head.

"No. My mother taught me very little. She remarried quickly after my father passed and paid me as little mind as possible. I was raised by my maternal grandmother and later, very briefly, by my great uncle and adoptive father. I was taught if I wanted something, I had to take it. Or _them._ "

Jedediah lifts his head and rolls on his side to face him. "Which ding-a-ling was it that filled your head with such a lame-brained notion?"

Octavius lifts his chin, proud. "Gaius Julius Caesar."

Jedediah gives him a _look._

"And how well did that attitude work out for him?"

"Not as well as he hoped, I'm afraid," Octavius says with as much dignity as he can muster. "He was assassinated."

Jedediah laughs again.

Octavius slides defiant eyes to Jedediah, expression deadpan.

"Sorry, sorry." Jedediah’s breath hitches. He wipes at his eyes with his gloved hand. "Adopted daddy. Got it. Ain't funny."

"Speak properly," Octavius admonishes. Voice brusque, he regards Jedediah with offended pride, his expression haughty and regal.

"Ah, come on! Don’t be like that. At least look at it from my side of things. It all makes so much more sense now."

"Yes, well," Octavius offers a reluctant smile, mollified. He concedes the point. "He had a tendency to anger many who should have been his allies in his rise to glory. Especially the Senate. I chose a different path and remained in their good graces, never adopted a pompous air toward them. Pleased them when I could. Made love to them."

Jedediah’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth opening a little.

His face twitches, and then the line of his mouth trembles, breath rhythmically puffing from his nose in silent laughter. "Really, now?"

"With my mouth," Octavius clarifies, and then grimaces at how that sounds.

Jedediah howls with laughter, clutching his stomach.

"Uncouth barbarian," Octavius grumbles. "Don’t be obtuse." He shakes his head with a sniff. "I see now I'm going to have to remove you from Silas's company forthwith if this is how you're going to react."

Recovering, Jedediah stills for a moment. His brow rises. "Leave him alone," he reminds, not unkindly. He shakes his head. "Ho, boy! I gotcha now, son. You can dish it out plenty, but you sure can’t take it."

Octavius frowns.

"You don’t like it when the shoe’s on the other foot, d’ya?"

"I don’t wear shoes." Shaking his head, Octavius mutters out of the side of his mouth, "Sometimes, I truly do not understand you."

"Nobody does." Jedediah smiles at him full on and raises both his eyebrows. "I’m the wind, baby." With that, he blows out a gentle breath with only enough strength behind it to ruffle Octavius's short hair.

Octavius's expression softens and he closes his eyes, leaning forward.

It is surprisingly easy to think of Jedediah as the wind. A tempest. A soft breeze. Raging. Soothing. Howling. Whispering. Focused and wild.

When he opens his eyes, Jedediah’s mouth has curved into an utterly ridiculous half-smile. He laughs. His head dips and it's enough to cause Octavius to falter at the sight.

His answering smile is warm.

After several long moments to restore his equilibrium, Octavius clears his throat and attempts to clarify once more, voice low.

"I flattered them. Charmed them. Courted their vanity. Worked to maintain good standing. Sang their praises and complimented whenever possible. Preferred seeing the bigger picture and thinking long term rather than concentrating on petty grievances." He lifts his chin. "In the end, I got my way. The Senate never knew what hit them."

"Clever. That’s smart. Dang smart." Impressed, Jedediah punches him lightly on the shoulder which Octavius allows this time without comment even when the action jars him. "So diplomatic. Who knew? My boy is growing up!"

Octavius tilts his head, and queries, "You _do_ realize I’m older than you and that all this happened centuries before you were born? You held no influence and had no hand in my actions."

"Sure I did, boy. Was there in spirit." Jedediah winks and then beams at him, the smile once again rivaling the sun. He hums softly to himself.

Octavius finds the sound appealing. Warmth pools in his stomach. He closes his eyes and finds himself wanting to reach out. To touch.

Desire thrums through his veins at the prospect. His heartbeat quickens.

Overcome, he imagines what it would be like to feel that soft hum against his throat. To tip that ridiculous black hat from Jedediah’s head and bury his hands in tousled hair that is still mussed from sleep of the night before. Skim his hands against blond stubble and cross plains of a clothed stomach. Slide his hands over to unbutton blue fabric.

He wonders what it would be like to roll on top of Jedediah, to mount him and press close. Grind his hips. Hear the startled gasp and the brief panic. And abruptly sense the tension melt against him, only to have new tension replace the old with redirected purpose as the body reacts, hardens, and shifts under him.

Watch as blue eyes lose their focus and grow heavy with desire equal to his own. Marvel as hands reach back, pulling him closer as that laughing mouth tilts up to meet his. Capture lips. Taste and nip at a prominent Adam’s apple, Jedediah’s chin lifting in submission, welcoming the exploration.

Groan as knees part to bracket and accommodate him. Caress thighs through leather breeches as he guides Jedediah’s legs, first one, and then the other, to wrap around his waist.

He wants to lay siege.

And Teddy already believes them to be married...

His lips part. He wets them.

A shadow in the shape of a gloved hand passes over his eyes.

"Hey! Ho, now! Daydream Johnny! Wake up!"

And then, abruptly, Octavius’s eyes snap open and he jolts out of his reverie, startled over where his wayward thoughts have led him.

Bristling, his fingers curl. Defiant, he clenches them into tight, trembling fists at his sides. If he’d been a cat, his back would be arched, his fur standing on end, and he would be growling, hissing, and spitting. He may still.

They may not be the enemies they were, they may even be friends if truth were told, but this...this is something entirely new. It’s unsettling.

Octavius scowls, and finds he has to subtly shift position. Brow furrowed, he is swept back to reality and his mind rejoins the conversation.

"Hmm? What do you want? I was listening. _What_?"

The oblivious Jedediah stares hard and exhales sharply. His jaw works. Even turned on his side, his arms are folded over his chest.

"Uh-huh."

Without waiting for Octavius’s biting retort, he prattles on.

"I said: now if we can just work on you try'n to get your conquer on with everything in sight…"

Octavius lifts his chin. He swallows hard, bites his lip, and refuses to blush.

"You can’t deny it passes the time."

He would rather not discuss his predilections, pointedly ignoring the " _who_ " in his line of sight at present. A war between two opposing factions sparks, threatening to quicken into flame.

Octavius will not let it.

He obstinately reverts the subject back to Teddy. With eyes glittering, he rolls his head toward the ceiling and awaits his pulse to return to normal. His eyes cut back to Jedediah.

"He believes he’s unworthy of her."

"If the mustachioed rider will treat her nice, I got no quarrel if that’s her choice, too. But if he even thinks that treating her like Charbonneau did is alright, than we’re gonna have words. A whole slew of 'em. And Smith & Wesson, or as I like to call 'em, Bessie and Ol' Blue, will be chomping at the bit to get in on the conversation."

Octavius opens his mouth, but then closes it again.

"I never told. About your guns, I mean. I never told him. Your secret is safe. For now. Simply take our conversation under advisement. I do not believe you ever need concern yourself regarding his treatment of her. He —"

Octavius’s words are cut off by the sound of a scream, a shrill whinny, an equine call for help.

The sound startles them and Jedediah looks around wildly.

Octavius, for his part, curses under his breath. He’d forgotten everything, all but Jedediah.

"Sweet Pea! Let's go to work, partner!"

Instantly, Jedediah rises, sways only once, and shouts encouragements and promises of rescue. He grabs Octavius by an elbow, hauls him to his feet, and propels him forward.


	8. Get Along Little Doggies, Part Three

Determined to reach Jedediah’s steed, they race down the hall.

Neither man is a born sprinter. While it cannot be denied their years of sparring with one another have made them stronger and more agile, a cardiovascular workout had never been the end goal.

Octavius plans on remedying this training oversight with his army immediately upon their return. For now, the terrified neighing bolsters their speed and has them running at a frantic clip with Octavius only having the slightest of leads.

"How?" Panting behind him, Jedediah wheezes out, "How ya beating me when you’re gussied up in that high-falutin’ tin can?"

Octavius’s breath comes in harsh, shallow gasps. Their race hadn’t been a competition. Until now. At that comment, he narrows his eyes and finds the energy within him somewhere to lay on a burst of speed. Not having the air to speak, he presses his advantage, legs pumping, putting more distance between them out of sheer annoyance. It is a matter of pride. He will not allow anyone to disparage his armor.

They sprint, vault, and roll over the feet of bewildered, beleaguered figures who aren’t fast enough to remove themselves from their path.

Rounding a corner, Octavius’s breath catches sharply and he stops dead in his tracks. He clutches his chest, thinking he may have a heart attack.

Jedediah barrels into him a second later. They skid and would have crashed to the floor if Octavius hadn’t planted his legs and held his ground.

Heart hammering in his throat, guilt floods his belly even as a shiver runs down his spine. He only has enough breath to murmur a jittery-sounding, "Oh no."

Sweet Pea is pressed against the wall, reins trailing on the ground. The whites of her eyes are showing as they roll in their sockets. Alternately, she cowers and rears, bucks, and kicks, screaming.

The cause is clear.

She is not alone.

It is something out of a nightmare.

A monstrous cobra has her pinned. Trapped. Cornered. Its iridescent, scaled head is held high off the ground. Unnaturally still, it is coiled tightly into three loops, neck arched, poised to strike.

The hellbeast squeals wildly.

Octavius gulps. He knows cobras well and is familiar with what the bite of such a creature can do to the body better than most. Spiteful and unapologetic until the very end, Cleopatra chose the venom of an Egyptian Cobra, denying him his rightful retribution for his sister's betrayal and subsequent broken heart. Cleopatra and Octavius’s scheming, adulterous brother-in-law, and rival, Mark Antony bested him, but only at the cost of their own lives. What he found is permanently seared into memory.

An eerie tableaux.

Lovers entwined in an eternal, morbid embrace. One dead from falling upon his sword, and the other...

Paralysis, swollen extremities, and the liquefying of internal organs.

Some cobras are known to kill a fully grown human being in less than thirty minutes, and Sweet Pea is so little by comparison.

Mind racing, he calculates the possibilities of saving the steed, how it can be accomplished, dismissing alternatives, forcing himself to think rationally. It is a complex equation to be sure. At last, he shakes his head. There is nothing to be done.

Octavius turns his head and the apparition of Cleopatra stands in the corner of the hall, arms folded.

She smiles, and there is cruelty in the set of her richly tanned mouth. Still perfectly detestable, she raises a manicured finger toward him in accusation. Her fingernails have been filed into sharp points, giving them the appearance of talons. Orange light glints off her golden armbands as hellfire ignites behind her eyes. Her message is clear. This is precisely what she believes he deserves.

Octavius squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, the shade has dissipated.

And that's when he senses movement. Octavius sees Jedediah tense.

Beside him, Jedediah draws himself into a squatting position. Crouching low, he draws his weight upon the balls of his feet and aims himself like one of his guns, intent on springing onto the cobra’s back. He takes off like a shot.

"No!"

Octavius twists around, leaping to meet him. His arm catches Jedediah at the waist before he can shoot past his reach. The force of Jedediah’s charge and Octavius’s own obstinate refusal to allow him any further is enough to spin them both out of control several paces and they nearly topple over.

"Snake rodeo!" Jedediah shouts, defiant.

Planting his feet once more, Octavius recovers their balance. He quickly maneuvers and wraps his arms around Jedediah's torso, enveloping him in a bear hug.

"No snake rodeo!" he commands with a firm shake. More gently he soothes in a low, urgent voice, "Don’t look. Close your eyes."

"Get away from my dad-gum horse!" Jedediah shouts up at the cobra. "Why doncha pick on someone your own size!"

He whips his head, bucks, rears, and jerks in Octavius's arms. He pulls with every ounce of desperate energy in his body. It is nothing like last night and Octavius hasn’t the strength to hold him.

His captive breaks free.

Not to be deterred, Octavius rounds, his heart feeling like it's going to tear free from his chest. He will have his way in this. Leaping forward, he intercepts Jedediah, catching him by his upper arms.

"Stop! Jedediah, stop. Please. It is finished. The poor beast is done for."

"Says you!" Jedediah jerks free. "Outta the way, kemosabe, I'm saving my horse!"

"But at what cost? You don’t know —"

The hissing grows louder.

The sound is far too close to his ear and his skin crawls at an abrupt sense of danger behind his back. Octavius halts mid explanation.

Stilling, he slowly turns around.

And then he's shrinking back against Jedediah.

Octavius cranes his neck up and up to peer into a pair of flat, basilisk eyes.

Sometime during their struggle, the cobra lost interest in the steed, curiosity piqued by all their commotion.

Blue-sleeved arms wrap protectively around his shoulders and he's cautiously marched backward a few paces. Octavius’s own arms lift to clutch Jedediah’s forearms.

The cobra observes them both with a copper-gold, serpentine glare and rises up to an even more intimidating height, body twisting with a sinuous grace, poised high above their heads.

Ribs in the cobra’s neck spread under elastic skin. The serpent’s hood rounds and flares out.

Jaws part in a dry, raspy hiss, and colorless, jelly-like poison drips from a pair of hollow, down-curving fangs.

The sight has Octavius scrambling Jedediah even further backward so their skin is not splashed by the venom.

Eyes burning, the cobra uncoils and slithers closer. It seems to glide toward them, head still raised. The motion is near-boneless and swift.

Octavius makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat, casting a quick, frightened glance over to Jedediah.

The focused attention of the cobra nearly robs Octavius of his voice; he can scarcely whisper. "Well, this is problematic."

Jedediah turns his head, eyes wide in amazement.   

"Amigo, this has moseyed on past problematic and rushed head-on into _ain’t good._ "

Forgetting the snake, Octavius’s mouth thins and he swivels his head.

"My word was more descriptive."

Jedediah scrunches up his face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Octavius scowls, eyes roving imperiously over him. He lifts his chin.

"Are you serious?" Jedediah asks, pausing long enough to look incredulous. "You really want us ta' whip out our tallywhackers and have a wizzin' contest, right here, right now?" He clenches a fist, giving the impression that if not for the direness of the situation, he’d be shaking that fist and hopping up and down. "Your timing is terrible!" he whisper-shouts in an almost-whine.

Stunned, Octavius opens his mouth, blinks, and then closes it. Sometimes he believes Jedediah randomly strings words together to mess with him. This is one of those times. He turns his head, opens his mouth again, closes it. Frowning, he looks back over his shoulder.

Jedediah ignores the scrutiny.

"It's an expression. You —"

Attention wavering, Jedediah whips his head toward the cobra. His eyes go wide, mouth shaped in a silent, _oh._ And then he lights up like bottled lightning. Bouncing a little, he grips the crown of his Stetson with both hands.

"I think I got an idea," he says.

"Oh, really?" Octavius harrumphs out of habit. "You astonish me."

"Quiet, you," Jedediah grouses and smacks him absently.

"Ow!" Octavius rubs his arm. "That’s it. I demand a divorce. I refuse to stand passively by whilst I’m battered black and blue."

"Quit your bellyaching. It's called male bonding. Get over it."

"Nevertheless. I am a strong, independant Roman who needs _no_ man," he says with an arrogant lift of his chin.

"I ain’t been hittin' ya that hard! And do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth right now?"

Octavius sniffs. "I stand by them."

Jedediah works his jaw, rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and then ignores him. He squints, as though struggling with an internal debate. Finally, he seems to make some sort of decision.

Stiffening his spine, Jedediah takes several deep inhales through his nose and blows out a loud breath.

"Alright, alright," he breathes again, nodding, eyes still shining bright with inspiration and excitement. "I got this. Step aside, hoss. Don’t make any sudden moves."

Carefully, Jedediah slips away from Octavius and sidesteps; slowly inching toward the cobra’s left.

Octavius snaps to attention and makes a desperate swipe for Jedediah, determined to drag him back, but he's moved too far away.

Manner languid, Jedediah exudes a calm grace. He watches the serpent warily, mindful of keeping eye contact as the copper-gold gaze tracks his movements.

"What are you doing?" Octavius asks in a harsh whisper, bringing the cobra’s attention back to him.

"Quit flappin’ your gums and let me work," Jedediah says.

Octavius opens his mouth to speak, attention frayed, but Jedediah holds up a gloved hand to stop him.

"It means: be quiet." Jedediah says, and then claps his gloved hands sharply, lifting his voice. "Hey, you! Snake eyes! Right here!"

The serpent darts its attention back to him.

"That’s right, puddintine. Focus on me."

"Puddintine!" Octavius says, irritation making his voice boom. The walls throw back his voice, seemingly as disbelieving as he. Octavius stares hard at Jedediah for a very long time. "Do you have a death wish? Are you completely insane!"

This time the cobra ignores him in favor of watching Jedediah.

"That’s right, sugar," Jedediah encourages.

 " _Sugar!_ "

The snake cocks its head to the side and flicks its tongue.

"You like that name? Sugar?"

Exhaling sharply, Octavius’s eyes darken.

"Never mind," he declares, tone frosty, "you've answered my question. My claim is validated. You _are_ insane."

Jedediah beams, good humor dancing in and around his eyes.

"Aw, you say the sweetest things. You always get so adorable when you're good and riled."

Already provoked, Octavius throws caution to the wind and grips his sword. He slips it out of its sheath, plotting Sugar’s destruction. Only Jedediah.

" _Sugar_ , for pity’s sake!" he growls to himself. Turning to Jedediah, he utters a volley of oaths. "I can see now the entire purpose for your existence is simply to serve as a warning to others, you fool."

"Hey, slow it down. Slow it down! God-dang it, 'Tavius, quit going all bullheaded, sword-waving Roman on me here!"

At the flash of metal, the cobra twists its head back toward Octavius. It rears itself to one side, avoiding the blade, then swipes back, coiling menacing and purposeful.

"Do not test the depth of my resolve, foul creature!" Octavius warns. "I will end you."

"Hey — whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jedediah whistles at the snake and hops up and down. "Ignore toga boy over there. He’s just got his back up about something and is spoutin’ off. Ya don’t want him. I’m the real threat. Eyes on me." He whistles again and stomps his feet. "Hey. Hey!"

The cobra keeps its lidless glare trained on Octavius.

Octavius scowls back in challenge.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches movement, and then a gun flashes from its holster.

Octavius lets out a breath in exasperation. His heart threatens to explode from his chest. He whisper-shouts to Jedediah out of the side of his mouth.

"How many times must we go over this? You know those don’t work!"

The serpent remains riveted on Octavius, eyeing his sword hand warily. It hisses a loud, raspy hiss.

Careful where he places his feet, Jedediah takes slow, measured steps even further away and smiles wanly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear ya talkin'. Now shut up. Watch this."

In one fluid motion, he spins and pitches the gun as hard as he can.

His throw is remarkably accurate.

The cobra hisses again, but is caught on the snout by the butt end of the gun. It flinches back from Octavius.

"Hey!" Jedediah repeats, waving his arms. "Over here!"

Incensed, the snake arches its neck, plunges across, and strikes.

Jedediah topples over backward and skitters out of the way as the cobra’s snout punches the empty space between his splayed legs.

"Gaaaah!" he screams and crab walks, scuttling back on the heels of his gloved hands.

The cobra raises its head, gives it a shake, and glares at him.

Shadows play, giving the monster a malignancy as it once again flicks its tongue.

Octavius carefully crosses his arms, sword still in hand. His breath hisses through gritted teeth, giving vent to a deep gasp of relief. "Well played," he finally offers wryly now that he sees Jedediah is fine. Shaken, but fine. "I think you’ve gotten its attention. Bravo."

"Cute. Real cute. Here's a thought. And I'm just throwin' it out there. How’s about you jump in as the new rodeo clown and let that snake try’n carve _your_ baby-maker into a canoe! See how _you_ like it!"

Despite the danger, Octavius laughs. "Don't flatter yourself, love. While impressive, I can assure you that it isn’t quite _that_ large."

The cobra whips its head back and forth between them, hissing, unsure who is the larger threat — the man brandishing the sword or the crazy-eyed one, hurling objects.

"This ain’t funny! There’s parts a’me that ain’t never gonna be the same! We’re talking shriveled up and died!" Jedediah shouts, hands balled into fists.

Octavius chuckles.

"Then I definitely want that divorce. I certainly did not marry you for your sparkling personality."

"You can kiss my hind end!"

Octavius bobs his head from side to side, pausing a moment to think it over. His mouth curves up.

"Tell ya what," Jedediah shouts. "We ain't married, but if we were, I’d take that divorce right about now!"

"You'd come crawling back," Octavius declares with a proud lift of his chin.

"Yeah! Huh? What?" Jedediah lifts his head. Flustered, there’s a wildness in his eyes. "No, no, no. Quit distracting me, will ya! You're cramping my style."

Octavius opens his mouth to reply when Jedediah lifts a finger to his mouth.

"Sshh, sshh, sshh!" Rolling sideways, he heaves onto his toes and elbows and bounces to his feet. "Okay, let's try this again." He points at Sweet Pea. "Get ready ta' get my horse out of there. I'll hold ‘em off."

"With what? Your sharp wit?"

Jedediah stills and spares him a glance. With a quick flick of his eyes, he squints.

"What the — ? What's with all the personal attacks? Dang, you’re prickly all of the sudden!"

Octavius blinks. His sneer withers. He hadn’t realized it, but it’s true. Unsure when it happened, his playful banter devolved into insults.

Terror does not bring out his best qualities, nor does it put him in a good humor. And only now, after being called out, does he recognize that part of him is blaming and lashing out at Jedediah for his own earlier stray thoughts. And Jedediah feels it, but doesn’t understand where it’s coming from.

Octavius is being unfair.

When Octavius doesn’t immediately reply, Jedediah's mouth thins. He takes in a deep breath, blows it out, and explains.

"I’m gonna try and charm it. Hypnotize it."

At Octavius’s incredulous stare, Jedediah goes on.

"You know that toodley thingamajig them snake charmers use? That doohickey-whatchamacallit they wave around with the long, pointed bit at the end. The flutey thing? I’ve read about ‘em, but for the life of me I can’t recall its name."

Eyes darting, Octavius thinks rapidly, breaking down Jedediah’s gibberish. Having been to exotic lands, he’s seen it. The name Jedediah is looking for is right on the tip of his tongue.

At last, he answers, "A _pungi_?"

A gleam appears in Jedediah’s blue eyes.

"A pungi! Yeah! That's it!" He unholsters his second pistol.

With an aura of myth around him, he holds the weapon in front of him with both hands, legs positioned in a shooter’s stance.

"Well, them cobras ain’t responding to the snake charmer’s music. It’s their movements. What’s more, they’re tracking the movement of the pungi. Cobras are timid by nature. They stand up and flare out their hoods most times ‘cause they’re spooked and defending themselves. They’re making themselves look bigger and meaner than they are. It's a warning. Like rattlers.

"Cobras don’t like the pungi ‘cause it hurts getting smacked with it. If the flutist sways, the snake sways. I just showed the snake that my gun packs a wallop. Just like the pungi."

Unease gnaws at Octavius's belly over Jedediah’s intentions, but the dread dissipates somewhat. Jedediah’s logic makes about as much sense as anything else in this museum. At least he’s thinking and has a plan. Of a sort. It's a reckless and foolhardy plan, but it is a plan nevertheless. And he isn’t deliberately trying to get himself killed or sacrifice himself for his steed.

Octavius's thoughts must have leaked through into his expression because Jedediah misreads his misgivings and lets out a low whistle.

"Okay," he says with a long, slow earnestness. “Wow." For a moment, he stammers, seemingly at a loss for words. And then he recovers. There's a direct, honest steel in his gaze.

"Read ya loud and clear there, pal. Listen. I might not be a Roman, or a thoroughbred, or whatever the heck else that’s got your panties in a knot, Octavius, but I sure as blazes ain’t what you think. You best be revising your opinion of me right-quick or we can’t be friends. If ya even want that, that is. ‘Cause I sure ain't buying what you’re selling. If this is what ya call friendship, then I don’t want it. Don’t need it. I don’t _need_ anybody, ya hear?"

Octavius’s spirit sinks low.

Jedediah lets out a breath, eyes reflecting a defiant, quiet strength. He gestures to Octavius with his hand in an aggravated shooing motion.

"Scram. I said I got this. Go!"

The cobra is fully interested in Jedediah now with a deadly intent. It causes Octavius’s lips to part, stricken, but he nods once, properly chastised.

"Alright."

Casting one final glance toward Jedediah, he darts after the hellbeast in a full-out run.

Diving over the snake's side, he rolls and bounces up as the moment explodes into a frenzy of activity.

Attention diverted from Jedediah, the cobra twists around with an incredible speed, snapping its mouth to bite, but Octavius is faster, already well past striking range.

Hearing Jedediah’s wild whoop, Octavius feels the rush of air as the cobra whips back around just as Octavius reaches the steed.

The snake stops hissing and Octavius expects at any moment to hear a pained yelp dissolve into a fit of gasping and gurgling. Involuntarily clamping his eyes shut, his hands ball into trembling fists. He envisions a mangled, torn _thing_ that had once been Jedediah dangling limply from the cobra's mouth. His gorge rises.

He doesn't want to watch what is happening, but he must. Face grim, he breathes deep and wheels around to witness Jedediah swaying on his feet.

" _No…_ "

Despairing, Octavius’s heart slams inside his chest and he stretches out his hand.

Jedediah does not stumble, sag to his knees, or topple sideways. Instead, he continues swaying as the cobra silently tracks his movements, transfixed.

Octavius stops, frowns, lowers his arm, and tilts his head, heart leaping at what he’s seeing.

Jedediah holds his gun aloft. Eyes at half mast, his mouth curves into a lazy smile. He waves the pistol slowly from side to side and sways along to silent music.

Spellbound, Octavius gawks at this lethal piece of choreography. He recalls Jedediah’s shame-faced embarrassment when he confessed that he couldn’t dance. How Jedediah came by this belief is beyond Octavius.

Jedediah may not know the fancy footwork displayed by other members of the Old West, but if he truly wanted to, if he allowed himself to _try_ , he can most certainly dance.

In fact, he _is_ dancing.

It holds a strange power over Octavius.

The hypnotic sway of his hips is dreamlike, more like a lullaby than anything else. And yet, Jedediah’s motions are every bit as diverting, sensual even, than any bevy of courtesans displaying their artifice or bejeweled dancing-girls waving their arms and gyrating their hips.

And there, in that instant, the cobra transforms into _Sugar_. Neck arching, it rocks, and sways to and fro, quiet and subdued.

Jedediah moves with a poise that makes Octavius's heart skip a beat. It strengthens his regard.

Octavius watches him with reverent awe, mouth twitching up at the corners, pride glowing in his eyes.

Jedediah sweeps to the right and then to the left, taking careful measured steps, leading the cobra away.

Octavius’s lips part and he draws in a quick breath. He smiles, ducking his head.

And then he loses his smile. He looks up, sudden alarm curling in the pit of his stomach.

Jedediah’s plan is all well and good, but eventually he's going to tire. Octavius must make haste.

With a mounting sense of dread, he pulls his attention back to the steed and lifts his hand.

Sweet Pea sidesteps. Squealing, she rears up onto her back legs, hooves slashing the air, and Octavius has to jump to the side to avoid getting clipped. Terrified, she wheels in flight.

"Stop. Stop, I say! Whoa!"

He grabs her bridle, handling her roughly.

The hellbeast flattens her ears and reaches her neck out to nip him.

Glowering, Octavius jerks the bridle and pulls the hellbeast's head down. Making her look him squarely in the eyes, he speaks to her flattened ears.

"You will not bite me."

Throwing her head about, she stomps with her front feet with defiant eyes, shying away. The message is clear.

"So we are enemies now, as well, I see. You are just as maddening as your rider."

The hellbeast reaches out to bite him again. She is trembling like a leaf.

Avoiding her mouth, Octavius gives the bridle another firm tug.

"I don’t care if you like me or not. You _will_ mind me," he commands. "I am a Roman general and I _will_ be obeyed."

Sweet Pea whinnies unhappily and throws her head back.

Horses are meaningless to him. They serve their purposes. That is all. Transport in battle. Pack animals. Replaceable. They are not beloved.

For a moment Octavius questions why he is even here. He is the personification of the power and dignity of Rome, and should be back in his diorama with his army, plotting campaigns. His heart holds no love for this creature, no warmth or tenderness of feeling. The steed is a means to an end. So he may return home, or the home carved out for him in _The Hall of Miniatures._ The hellbeast is a burden. A biting, squealing, screaming, trembling burden. One that may well get them both killed.

_Them._

Octavius’s eyes find Jedediah who is still diverting the cobra’s attention. For his horse. Because she means something to him.

Octavius exhales sharply and closes his eyes. He opens them, and then glances back at the hellbeast.

The steed is a burden, yes, but Octavius has made her _his_ burden. He chose this path. Therefore, she is his responsibility. He must be kind.

He tries again.

Slowly, Octavius gathers and coils the reins.

With a sigh, his mouth thins, voice gentling. "Sweet Pea?"

She pricks her ears and holds her head up. Staring at him, she snorts.

"So you _do_ like your name. I did wonder," Octavius confesses, marveling and unhurriedly holds out his other hand, giving Sweet Pea time to shy from his touch if she needs to.

It takes a moment, sorting through memory of those rare instances when he wasn't responsible for the lives of thousands and decision-making only affected a select few. Moments in time when he wasn’t called upon to act as general, politician, emperor, or a creature of conquest and retribution, but a man.

Simply a man — a father.

Nights when Julia would pad her way across a cold stone floor and into his sleeping chambers. There she would ball her hands into fists and rub her eyes. Having awoken from a nightmare, she’d lift her proud Roman chin. Brown eyes glittering, she refused to admit she was simply a little girl in need of comforting. And despite her obstinate refusal to admit she was frightened, he would take her hand.

 

 

 

 

 

Ever the showman, he played the role of the daring protector. In those nighttime hours, he would arm himself with a wooden sword — _hers_ , obviously — and a wooden shield — also, _hers_ — for she wanted so desperately to be like her father.

 

 

 

 

 

  


Thus suitably armed, he set forth to battle demons and imagined terrors, put on elaborate one-man plays, teach and instruct, read to her, scrunch himself into tiny chairs that would be enormous to him now, and yes, even sing. All to keep the nightmares at bay from the one he should have loved best.

His heart swells.

Octavius murmurs softly to the horse now in a low tone.

"Hush. You are alright. You're safe now. I’m here," he says. "I am here."

Breathing heavily, Sweet Pea blinks long, black equine lashes, watching him with familiarly-colored deep brown eyes.

Gently, he strokes up and down the steed’s long, lean neck. He pats her.

From open rebellion, to stubborn resistance, to curiosity, Sweet Pea produces a blowing sound through her nose.

Slowly, by increments, she relaxes and leans into his palm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Octavius allows himself a small smile. He gently bumps his head against hers and tilts her head up.

"There, there. You see now? I'm not so terrible, after all."

Sweet Pea nickers at him, as though informing him she wouldn't go so far as to agree, but she finds him tolerable.

This time Octavius does smile — a quick flash of white teeth. He huffs.

"Unbelievable. Yes, I do believe you are just as exasperating as your rider," he replies fondly. "Come. Let's get you to safety before our tenuous truce is tested." Sternly, he lifts his chin and says, "You will find I am not a man to be trifled with."

She snorts as though to scoff, but it is followed by a soft nickering apology as she nuzzles him at the base of his shoulder in an equine hug.

"Fear not. No harm done. We cannot be brave all of the time," Octavius reassures her warmly. "You're still my hellbeast."

He pats her one final time. And then he seizes the reins and loops it over her neck.

He grabs hold of the steed’s withers, and pushes off. Swinging his right leg up and over the rump of the horse, he leads her to safety.

 _"Giddy up,"_ he says, and clicks his tongue.

Sweet Pea gathers her wits. Wanting to run, her muscles bunch and she leaps into the air, up and over the cobra’s tail, sparks shooting out beneath her hooves as she lands.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a dark figure with a swishing, fringed tail.

The lion from last night pads round and round, casting a baleful golden-eyed glare, waiting for an opportunity for ambush. A low growl rumbles deep in its chest. It lifts its head and roars.

The roar has enough raw power behind it to shake the walls.

" _Yaw!_ " Octavius spurs Sweet Pea, charging in front of the lion, sword rising in challenge.

He braces himself as the hellbeast rears onto her hind legs.

Her head lifts defiantly and she lands back down with a spark. Snorting her vengeance, she stomps her front hooves, sending flame shooting from her hooves in warning.

Only it’s too late. The roar breaks Jedediah’s concentration and his enchantment along with it.

The monster is out of Jedediah’s control.

Octavius jerks Sweet Pea around, focus split between the lion to the left and the cobra to the right.

The snake hisses. It does not blink its eyes, poised to strike Jedediah down.

Octavius can feel its malignancy, hatred, and its fury.

Channeling all his will into his eyes, Octavius bares his teeth.

" _You will not touch him!_ "

He unsheathes his dagger from his thigh and hurls it toward the cobra’s neck. It bounces off.

The snake flinches. It spits and hisses, but it is not driven back far enough.

Mouth open, eyes blazing, it plunges down for a final strike.

Octavius stares at Jedediah in dread.

Jedediah’s eyes follow him. His eyes are very wide and a startling, vivid blue. They are so very much alive.

And in that moment all else is forgotten — their battles, their rivalries, and their petty grievances. Everything. They are connected, hearts beating to the same rhythm, mirror images of one another.

And what a mirror image they make.

To Octavius, Jedediah is the wind and bottled lightning and the gathering storm and kindness, and every _good_ thing. He’s a puzzle box, a mystery to be unlocked.

Octavius wants desperately to solve it. He wants time.

That ridiculous slight, half-smile is plastered back on Jedediah’s lips. There’s a strange light in his gaze, radiating a deep acceptance, of knowing — as though he’s saying good-bye. There’s an apology in there, too. And regret.

Octavius cannot stand it.

A shadow falls across Jedediah’s face and his gaze flickers past Octavius.

Something chitters and squeaks behind Octavius’s back, making his skin crawl.

He does not look. Let it come.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Something large and brown slams down in front of Jedediah. A fur-covered arm knocks him clear of the cobra's fangs, snapping Jedediah's neck back at the shove, sending him hurtling through the air and sprawling toward Sweet Pea’s hooves.

Jedediah curls into a ball, covering his head.

In one fluid movement, Sweet Pea sidesteps so as not to trample her hooves down upon his skull.

She rears up and Octavius braces himself. Her hooves slash the air defiantly in warning to the lion to keep away from her human.

Dust motes ignite and sparkle down around them in her wake.

Octavius pats her flank. "That’s my girl."

She nickers as a Capuchin monkey — the creature that shoved Jedediah — lunches forward on the palms of its hands and peels its lips back, revealing sharp, pointed teeth at the cobra.

It screeches at the snake. The primate rears up from its crouch — a quick flash of silver — in its hand.

The Capuchin slaps the cobra with all of its might, the object in the creature’s hand jingling, as it smashes against the side of the cobra's head.

At the connection, there is a muffled, rending-tearing sound.

The cobra falls to the floor, hissing.

The Capuchin whistles sharply.

A group of monkeys bound forward, darting and hopping around the hall. Chittering and hooting, they crisscross paths in front of the lion.

Spooked and confused, the lion roars. Driven back, it slips into the darkness with a final rumble.

The snake’s head comes back up, and it rises to its full height. A flap of skin dangles from its reptilian face, stuffing spilling out.

Silver flashes again.

With a roundhouse swing, the Capuchin clubs the snake in the snout. A fang slides across the floor as more skin peels away from the reptile like parchment.

Copper-gold eyes flare red, blazing with rage. Body twisting, the cobra undulates, opening up its mouth wide for another strike, its one fang flashing.

The Capuchin feints, avoiding the strike, opens its jaws and screeches at the cobra again.

The chitters and squeaks behind Octavius turn into a deep growl.

He twists himself around in his seat, sword still raised, but only sees a fluffed up grizzled and brown ringed tail darting out of his line of sight.

Charging, a cat-weasel-monster-thing with a long body, short legs and a tapered snout — some sort of mongoose — skids to a halt and sits back on its hind legs. Intermittently chittering and growling, it gives a battle cry.

The mongoose — a female — stalks, rounding in ever smaller circles around the cobra.

The serpent whips its head and strikes, but the mongoose is faster.

She bounds around the snake, dancing out of reach again and again.

And again.

Incensed, the cobra arches its neck and snaps at her.

Startled, she jumps up into the air backward. She lands with a menacing growl. Darting past the snake’s head, she rounds again, getting behind the cobra and opens her jaws wide, cracking its skull with a powerful bite.

Still growling, she shakes her prey. The cobra moves, twisting and writhing, but it’s involuntary. The fight is over and the red glow slowly fades from its eyes.

"Jedediah!"

Octavius leaps off Sweet Pea.

Pulled to his feet, Jedediah sags against Octavius and gives him a dazed, dull-eyed stare.

Octavius slips one hand behind Jedediah’s back and with the other, cups his jaw and gingerly tilts his chin. He peers into blue eyes, looking for signs of injury.

Eyes at half mast, Jedediah’s head lolls to the side.

Octavius grips him tighter, propping him up. His hand lifts to support Jedediah’s neck.

"Jedediah? Come now. Look at me. Look at me. You’re alright," Octavius says, gently smacking Jedediah’s cheek. "You’re alright!"

Nothing.

And then, a whiplash.

Jedediah startles awake in an explosion of life, flailing his arms.

“What the —”

He jerks his face away from the sting of Octavius’s hand and brings his own hand up to ward off the smacks. At last, he cranes his neck and squints at Octavius.

"Hey, you," he mumbles.

Octavius’s heart beats like the flutter of butterfly wings in his breast. Brightening, he nods.

"Hello."

Jedediah smiles back, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

“I don't hear any fireworks, but I'd almost swear it was Independence Day. It ain't, is it?"

Octavius shakes his head. “I don't know, but I don't hear anything. Is this day... _good_?”

"The best. I miss it."

Jedediah is whole and vibrant and alive. And it is glorious. If Jedediah wants Independence Day, he shall have it. As soon as Octavius figures out what it is.

Feeling giddy, the hand still gripping Jedediah’s neck loosens slightly to allow Octavius’s thumb to rub lazy circles over unmarred skin.

And then, abruptly, as though realizing who holds him, Jedediah's gaze turns wild.

He jolts.

"No touching. No touching! We ain't married!"

Wiggling free, he shakes Octavius off.

Jedediah stumbles backward. There’s a stubborn set to his jaw as he points a finger in warning. He shivers. "Dagnabit! There’s such a thing as personal boundaries, ya know." He spreads his arms wide. "Gah!"

Eyes glittering, Octavius loses his smile and he lifts his chin.

Catching movement, they turn as one.

The mongoose picks up the dead cobra in her jaws. Before she can trot off with her prize, the cobra’s construct crumbles and turns to dust.

Jedediah shivers again, looking away. He turns to the monkey.

The Capuchin — a male —  chitters and darts away. He spins, raises up on his haunches, tilting his head and chitters some more as though mimicking human speech.

Jedediah saunters forward.

Octavius grips the hilt of his sword, alert for any sign of a charge.

Eyes darting, the monkey proudly lifts up a set of silver keys in triumph.

"Those are a mighty fine set of keys ya got there,” Jedediah says.

Head swaying from side to side, the Capuchin smiles wide, shrugs, and proudly holds the keys aloft again.

Jedediah nods. “Real pretty."

Frowning, Octavius hisses. "You do realize you’re conversing with a monkey."

Jedediah swivels his head, frowns, and squints. He watches Octavius for a long time.

"I converse with _you_ , don’t I?" he hisses back.

Octavius bites his lip and glances down.

"I suppose I deserved that."

Nodding, Jedediah agrees, "Yeah, I reckon ya did."

"It was not my intention to make you feel small earlier. I was afraid and did not handle it well. I took it out on you. My words were uncalled for, and for that —" Octavius clears his throat and exhales "— I apologize. I know you are capable. That was never in doubt."

Jedediah squints, watching him warily, but the anger in his eyes fades. He smiles slightly and bites his lip. Folding his arms over his chest, he ducks his head, toeing the floor with his boot. At last, he nods.

"I bet that hurt ta’ say," he says softly.

Octavius exhales sharply. He raises both his eyebrows. “Not being Roman, you have no concept.”

Jedediah gives him a once-over. “Because I’m a barbarian, ya mean?”

Stricken, Octavius opens his mouth to speak, but Jedediah waves a hand in a vague motion.

“Doggone it. Don’t go wringing your hands on me here. Words are just words. They stung a bit, yeah, but Ol' Jedediah'll be fine.”

Octavius lifts his gaze and graces him with a shy smile, a small quirk of the lips.

Jedediah smiles back, that ridiculous half-smile, a strange light shining in his eyes.

The Capuchin chitters again happily.

As one, they turn.

Eyes darting, the monkey smiles a wide, primate smile. Keys jingle as he claps.

"Thank you," Jedediah says to the monkey and holds out his hand.

Tentatively, the monkey pads forward. Uncertain, he lifts his hand. Spooked, he shrieks in alarm and scampers back. Clearly agitated, he chitters again, tilting his head, asking a question.

"It’s alright. I promise. Ain’t nobody here going ta’ hurt ya.” He glances back and flicks his eyes down to Octavius’s sword and squints back up to look him in the eyes, signaling Octavius to put it away.

Octavius does. He crosses his arms, not having to like it.

“You got my word. We’re the good guys,” Jedediah says, and crouches down. “C’mere."

Chittering, the Capuchin stands up on his back legs and toddles forward. He bobs his head from side to side, eyes plaintive, anxious of being grabbed. Eyes darting, he lifts a tentative hand again and purrs softly.

Jedediah nods. "You’re okay."

Reaching out, the monkey taps Jedediah’s gloved hand and then quickly skitters out of easy reach. He turns and stares back over his shoulder, holding up his keys, as though asking if Jedediah wanted to play keep-away.

"Dexter!" shouts a voice behind them, but fast, shuffling steps. "There you are, lug nut!"

The Capuchin jumps up into the air and shrieks, startled.

Jedediah grabs the crown of his hat with both hands, and then bites his knuckles. He rocks on his feet and turns on his heel, eyes wide.

"Time to adios out of here, partner. Let's skedaddle!"

He grabs hold of Octavius’s arm, pushing him ahead and takes Sweet Pea’s reins.

"Move, move, move!" he whisper-shouts.

Octavius hastens his steps.

The room is a wide open rectangle, and together they quietly press themselves back into the shadows just as a stoutly compact nightwatchman totters past.

 Sweet Pea nickers softly and Octavius lifts a finger to his lips to quiet her. Jedediah strokes her neck and gently bumps her head with his own as they watch quietly.

The Capuchin chitters again, smiles wide, blows out a raspberry, and urinates on the floor before bounding off with mischievous primate laughter.

The nightwatchman skids in the urine, slips, legs flying up into the air.  He falls to the ground with a loud thump. Grimacing, he lifts shaking fists.

"I ought to punch you right in the nose for that, but I won’t ‘cause I’m a good person!" the giant shouts, beating a fist down on the floor. "Get back here! I’m not chasing after you all night, crackerjack!"

Alarmed, Octavius shrinks back. Arms slung out protectively, he presses them all further back against the wall into deeper shadow.

Sweet Pea lays her head over his shoulder and snorts softly, but is, otherwise, quiet.

The giant rocks back and forth like an overturned beetle, having trouble crawling to his knees. At last, he finds his footing, only to slip and fall back down with a curse.

After a few more failed attempts, he gains his feet at last. Eyes twitching and his jowls set in a permanent scowl, he wipes at his ruined pant legs.  

"Slap-happy, key-stealing, incontinent monkeys. Neanderthals. Civil wars every night. Man-eating lions. I don't get paid enough for this crap!"

Even for a giant, he’s seems diminutive in stature. Gray haired and balding, he huffs and puffs. He lifts his squinting eyes in the direction the monkey went and grimaces.

Still griping to himself, a little dark rain cloud hovering metaphorically over his head, he limps off with as much dignity a urine-soaked nightwatchman can muster.

Every so often, he shakes a damp leg.

Octavius breathes a sigh of relief as the man turns a corner.

Jedediah leans over, whispering into his ear.

"That was Gus, but I’ve taken to calling him _Sunshine._ "

Octavius blinks and slides his gaze over, expression deadpan.

Jedediah shrugs.

"What? He could use some sunshine in his life."

Octavius rolls his eyes.

"Only you, Jedediah. Only _you._ "

Jedediah grins brightly and huffs. He smacks Octavius's arm and jerks his chin.

"Enough dilly-dallying. Come on, partner. This way."

Leading Sweet Pea, he saunters over to the nearest metal grate. He guides her head down and directs her to lift her legs up and over the sharp edges. Turning, he holds out his gloved hand.

"Come on," he coaxes again. "There’s something I got to show you."

Octavius hurries to retrieve his dagger and Jedediah's two guns. “Wait for me. I’m coming,” he says, turns, and follows after Jedediah, peeking his head into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The heartwarming and beautiful fan art showcased in this chapter was created by the lovely and talented [friendlyobservant.](http://friendlyobservant.tumblr.com/) Thank you so much! I am both humbled and honored. And extremely proud. This is a first.
> 
> The artist's original post can be found [here.](http://friendlyobservant.tumblr.com/post/127966071658/yo-if-you-are-jedtavius-trash-and-havent-read) If you like the artist's work, please show them some love! <333


	9. Get Along Little Doggies, Part Four

Peering this way and that, Octavius hoists himself into the ductwork.

Or tries to, anyhow.

His ornamental pteruges catch on the sharp lip of the grate, leaving him stuck half in and half out of the tunnel.

It earns him an exasperated, “Dagnabit, Octavius!” and then “Wow, you’re hooked real good. Hold still. You’re going to rip it.”

Following Octavius’s less than stellar behavior earlier, he submits to the assistance with his back straight and a grim set to his jaw, but without protest. He draws in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly, trying to force himself to remain reasonable. He only slaps Jedediah’s hands when the warmth of his palms hover too close over hypersensitive areas, preferring _that_ to not having another embarrassing physical reaction that would be difficult to ignore in such close quarters.

True to form, Jedediah smacks him back.

“Ow!”

“Oh, will you quit your bellyaching and take it like a man?”

“I most certainly will not! I am a Roman general. No man may lay hands upon me in such a fashion.”

“Well, then, that’s your problem, pal,” Jedediah says, and smacks him again.

“Ow!”

Octavius tries to pinch Jedediah on the side, but Jedediah shoulders him out of the way.

“Move over, will ya?” Jedediah grumbles and crouches down. “You’re blocking the light and I can’t see a dad-gum thing,” which is followed by “Oh, for crying out loud! Stop being such a baby!” when Octavius protests. Jedediah yanks and yelps. “My eyes!”

Confused by that last part, because Octavius hadn’t struck him, Octavius looks down in the half light.

His legs are spread wide, yes, but thankfully, no part of his anatomy rebelled out of his iron-willed control. He’s actually rather proud of himself.

Octavius twists himself around with as much dignity and self-possession as he can muster. He stares at Jedediah, confused, feeling as though he’s somehow missing something vital.

“Have you taken leave of your senses? You didn’t see anything!” he protests.

Jedediah raises a hand over his eyes out of embarrassment, refusing to look.

Octavius glances down again, frustrated, still not understanding.

Sliding his gaze back up, he stares at Jedediah as though he's gone mad. Brow furrowing, he tries hard to decipher whatever it is Jedediah isn’t telling him.

He waits in the pregnant silence, and then comprehension dawns.

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Even in the gloom, his eyes do not flinch. “I see only one infant around here, Jedediah, and it certainly is not me. I am wearing undergarments, you fool!” Lifting, the pteruges he reveals said undergarments. “See?”

“Oh my God!” Jedediah startles. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing right now?”

Octavius huffs. “That depends on what it is you think I’m doing, doesn’t it?” he challenges. “You’ll have to uncover your eyes to know for certain.”

Visibly steeling himself, Jedediah peeks through splayed fingers.

“Gah!” He blushes, flails an arm, and abruptly turns around.

Octavius blinks. He grins broadly.

"My, my," he says with a wry smile. “Why, Jedediah, I do believe you’re bashful!”

This may be the greatest discovery of all time, rivaling even fire and the invention of the wheel. It is delicious. And endearing.

Embarrassment sharpens Jedediah’s voice. He folds his arms over his chest, refusing to turn back around. “Bashful? I ain't bashful! You just… _ain’t_ , is all. That goes for all you Roman boys. You like lettin’ it _all_ hang out.”

Octavius chuckles, rich and hearty.

“That would be impractical. Especially in battle.”

Jedediah goes through a series of postures, body language that could only be indicative of rising panic.

“I suppose you’re just _loving_ this,” Jedediah finally says, glancing up at the wall, perturbed.

Octavius pauses and thinks it over.

“Yes,” His voice is warm, soft, and low. He nods once. “Quite.”

Jedediah shakes his head, hands on hips. “You’re a strange man. A regular laugh riot.”

Octavius inclines his head respectfully even though Jedediah cannot see him with his back turned.

"Why, thank you. I do try.”

“Very funny.” Jedediah clenches a shaking fist and lifts his head to shout at the metal ceiling. “I can’t take you anywhere!”

"Jedediah,” Octavius reasons, “you tame wolves and charm venomous snakes without so much as batting an eye and _this_ is what has you upset?"

Octavius blinks, being overcome by two insights simultaneously.

The first: in Jedediah’s company, for a few minutes at least, Octavius had actually forgotten they'd faced down a monstrous cobra only a few moments earlier. He may be in shock.

And the second: Jedediah is adorable.

He bursts out laughing again, burying his face in his hands.

“Out of a list of the top _billion_ things, I never thought I’d say to you, _‘Octavius, will you put your legs together and pull your skirt down, please?’_ has to be high on that list, but Octavius, will you put your legs together and pull your skirt down, please?”

Octavius lifts his head and blinks. His eyes are bright and filled with mischief.

“You have a list?”

“Not the point here, amigo! I ain’t talking to you while you’re gapped open like a watermelon.”

Octavius's back straightens with pride, he lifts his chin. “Ah, yes, the watermelon. Native to Africa. Developed in Rome.” He gives a fake bow and mocking salute, keeping his tone formal. “You are welcome.”

Jedediah throws up a hand in aggravation.

Taking pity, Octavius gives a long, slow exhale. And then he’s laughing again, short staccato laughter that is mostly quiet. Mostly.

"Very well."

Modestly pulling the ptergues down over his thighs, and mindful of not snagging his paludamentum, he pushes off from the lip of the grate.

He lands with a dull thump and a tinny pop as the silver floor shudders beneath his weight. It is dark but for a shaft of light streaming in from the chamber they exited.

They aren’t completely surrounded by darkness, but Octavius would feel better with a torch handy.

He can just make out Jedediah, head dropped in embarrassment, shifting on his feet.

Even with his back turned, Jedediah appears to be pouting. Or, troubled. Octavius can’t quite tell in this light.

“You truly are quite adorable when you’re flustered.”

“Listen, you,” Jedediah says, aggravated. Surly, he points and speaks his offense at the wall, refusing to turn around. “You can kick me up the backside while I ain’t lookin’, beat me, hurt me, stab me in the back with your great big giant sword, but don’t you be calling me adorable, ya hear? I ain't adorable!”

“Touchy, aren’t we? You defy reason, logic, or even understanding. You’ve called me adorable on several occasions,” Octavius says. “Turnabout is fair play.”

Jedediah makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Dagnabit!” He rears and kicks the side of the tunnel. The sound reverberates around them.

Octavius’s eyes gleam, regarding Jedediah with affectionate amusement and he realizes in that moment, and for all moments hereafter, he will never intentionally cause harm to this man. They may fight, and he knows with absolute certainty they _will_ fight, but their battles will never be fueled by hatred.

Never again.

He could continue the teasing, but chooses to be merciful. Part of him wonders if this uneasiness is merely due to Jedediah being Jedediah, or if this is simply a reflection of a backward culture. All of the men of the Old West are discreetly covered from the neck down, the females, also.

Layers upon layers of clothing.

Octavius wonders if, in this time period at least, the Americans are all sexually repressed. The idea is hysterical.

The mind boggles.

It is glorious!

If he is right, and they are repressed, it’s a wonder they ever reproduced at all. The possibility is there that if he was to take a consort from the Old West, he might be spent and out of the notion by the time he finally got one of them unclothed.

And then his gaze slides over to Jedediah.

No, he decides. No. He wouldn't be.

After pausing a moment to consider, it only now occurs to him that, as a culture, he has never even seen their bare hands, much less anything more scandalous to tempt the eyes except for an exposed throat here and there.

This strange modesty intrigues him, especially considering how aggressively demonstrative they can be about everything else. It is alien, but not unpleasant. There is an air of mystery about it.

It presents a challenge.

Yes. He is most definitely intrigued.

By contrast, Roman attire must be quite shocking for them. Octavius finds this new insight charming. Bemused, his lips quirk up.

“Steady, Jedediah,” he finally says warmly. Drawing himself up, he stretches out an arm and holds out his hand in entreaty. He raises both his eyebrows, quickly schooling his expression. “Come. It is now safe to look.”

Jedediah turns his head and gazes at him, his blue eyes entirely without guile.

Quiet and yet mouthy.

Genuine and yet wily.

Brazen and yet bashful.

This is the true Jedediah Strong Smith.

Jedediah dips his head, massaging the back of his neck.

Octavius’s heart skips a beat and realizes he has never met anyone quite like Jedediah before. He likes him. Perhaps more than he should.

Jedediah coughs uncomfortably. “Much obliged,” he finally says.

“And you call _me_ the melodramatic one,” Octavius glances away with a grumble, but there is fond amusement in his tone, and breathless laughter underneath it all. He offers a teasing half-smile, brow crinkling. “You Americans and your strange sensibilities…”

“It ain't funny! There are certain things that ain’t done in polite society,” Jedediah admonishes by way of an explanation. “That happens ta’ be one of ‘em.”

Octavius lifts his chin and strives to look detached. He almost succeeds, keeping his countenance subdued, but his eyes twinkle.

When Jedediah gets flustered, his accent thickens. He is a treasure.

Octavius must remember this.

“ _Dear one_ ,” he begins wryly, “even if I hadn’t been wearing undergarments, I’ll have you know the _penis_ , and more importantly, the _phallus_ ,” Octavius says with very deliberate pride, his eyebrows shooting up too meet his hairline each time the muscles in Jedediah’s jaw jumps and he jolts, “is highly revered in my culture. Bronze likenesses decorated our homes. We attached little wings to them. They were hung in nurseries as talismans, symbols of protection against evil.”

“Well, don’t be shoving your symbol of protection in my face when I’m trying to unhook ya.” Jedediah is definitely looking at him now. “Last time I checked, _angel drawers_ , I wasn’t evil. Just quoted out of context and misunderstood.”

Octavius’s mouth curves upward, both at the name and at Jedediah’s calm acceptance over having his good name maligned.

He didn’t hesitate. Not even a little.

Octavius’s eyes shine bright and unguarded. He is so proud he doesn’t correct Jedediah by informing him he doesn’t actually wear _drawers_ here, mindful of not ruining their play.

For that is what they are doing with each other, he suddenly realizes.

Playing. 

Like friends do.

It’s been so long since he's let his guard down enough to engage in silly games with anyone.

Not since he was a child, and perhaps not even then. He’s always been an old soul.

And yet, somehow, some way, Jedediah makes him young. It is a wondrous feeling having this kind of companionship even if it’s only for a little while.

“At least you’re developing a sense of humor about it,” he says at last.

Several different emotions play over Jedediah's face and then are gone before he settles on any of them. He lifts his arms, drops them.

“Yeah, well, what can ya do?” he drawls, slow and easy, his manner languid.

Octavius bobs his head from side to side, quietly conceding the point.

“Indeed.”

A gentle smile settles on Jedediah’s face, and he's back to being quiet. He’s hooked his fingers around his belt loops, his repose unwittingly bringing his hips into sharp focus.

Intentionally keeping his eyes forward so his gaze doesn’t stray, Octavius steps over to the opposite wall and reaches his hand out. He skims his fingers over smooth silver. Turning his hand over for inspection, his lip curls. He pulls a face. His fingers have come away with a layer of dirt and grime. It appears like no one has cleaned this tunnel in years.

He scowls with disdain at their unclean surroundings and looks for something he can use to scrape off the filth.

Quickly, he turns and wipes his hand on Jedediah’s sleeve.

Jedediah startles. He glances down at his arm, bewildered.

“What in the Sam Hill do ya think you’re doing!”

Brushing off the dust and grit now clinging to the blue material of his shirt sleeve, he shoots an angry glare at Octavius.

“Do I look like your dad-gum rag boy? Son, I ain't your own personal hanky!”

Octavius looks up and around.

“What is this place?”

Hands on his hips, lips compressed, stony-jawed and hard-eyed, Jedediah fumes with a squint. His gaze could cut diamonds.

After a beat, he grinds his teeth together and shakes his head. He takes Sweet Pea’s reins, and leads the way without a word.

Well, almost.

Anger shifts into aggravation. He turns around, walking backward, and jabs his finger at Octavius.

“I can’t believe you!” He may have even begun speaking in a language even Octavius doesn't know.

Octavius stays where he is for a moment. He chuckles softly and grins, a magnificent blaze building in his eyes. Jedediah truly is quite a winning creature.

He bounds after him.

When he catches up, he raises his arm and hooks it around Jedediah's shoulder and gently bumps Jedediah's head with his own.

He is rebuffed with a yelp and the flailing of limbs.

"No touching!" Jedediah shouts, straightening his Stetson, and holds out a gloved palm to enforce a modicum of distance between them.

It is no matter. Overcome with giddiness and an overwhelming, profound tenderness, Octavius grabs Jedediah's wrist and yanks Jedediah toward him.

He grabs Jedediah's head, cupping it between his hands, and plants a wet, sloppy kiss against his cheek before pulling away.

Jedediah stiffens and yelps again. Only this time, he’s much, much louder. Recoiling, he scrunches into himself, making as small a target as possible and frantically wipes at the side of his face. His expression is one of comical surprise.

"And no kissing! We ain't married!"

Jedediah pushes Octavius back and points at him, tracking his movements with his index finger to ward off any further affectionate advances.

Octavius laughs, bounces on his heels, and thwacks Jedediah on the backside with the blunt end of his scabbard.

He closes his eyes, tilting his head, relishing the sound of Jedediah's indignant squawks and subsequent tirade ricocheting off the walls.

And then Octavius is off, blood pounding in his ears, dodging out of the way when Jedediah swats at him with his hat, hurling nonsensical, and somewhat incoherent epithets at his back.

It’s a bit like being married again. He informs Jedediah of this, and then the chase is on.

Octavius feints first left and then right. Racing through the tunnel, he zigzags like a darting rabbit, still laughing, as Jedediah barrels after him.

Eventually, Jedediah catches up and Octavius is pulled off his feet by his paludamentum, whirled, and wrestled to the ground, half stunned.

They laugh, clutching their stomachs, gasping for breath in this filthy, silvery, dimly lit passageway.

Octavius turns his gaze. Brown meets blue. All else fades away.

They smile with their eyes — a shared gaze speaking volumes in a language all their own — of words their ears aren’t ready to hear, and of which their brains are still unwilling to decipher.

In this one perfect moment in time, they are happy.

* * *

_Later…_

They quickly discover that Sweet Pea's shoes do not spark when she walks slow. Which is good. There is an odd smell in the air that is not quite the telltale odor of rotten eggs, indicative of sulfur or gas, but is dust mixed with something _other._

It is enough to make them cautious of friction.

They slow their movements down to an ambling gait, walking beside her while she placidly sways her head from side to side, tail swishing.

At times, they feel their way along the wall when the grates are blocked or don’t supply sufficient light.

The tunnel is by no means silent. A hollow popping-noise follows them with every step. A dull thump sounds, giving away their position, whenever one of them walks over a particularly weak spot.

Jedediah eventually answers Octavius’s earlier question with a shrug.

His action is slow, his look reluctant.

“I think we're in some kind of magic wind tunnel.”

“Magic wind tunnel?” Octavius echoes the question back even louder, lifting an eyebrow. He should be used to this by now. This entire building appears to run on sorcery — but magic air, as well?

“I’ve been prowling around all over the place this way.” Jedediah glances around. “Seemed wiser. Been trying to imagine myself exploring a cave system. Ain’t working real well. No stalactites.”

“It’s filthy enough to be a cave, to be sure,” Octavius supplies, looking up and around. He turns in a circle.

The space is large and cavernous in comparison to their size, and it makes strange reverberating echoes even when they aren’t moving. The sound is making Octavius paranoid that they are being followed. He finds himself looking back over his shoulder every so often, hand hovering over his sword hilt, imagining he's catching glimpses of shadowy forms out of his peripheral vision.

It makes the hairs along the back of Octavius's neck stand on end.

He turns his attention back toward Jedediah. “Is this why you believe this museum is low on funding? The filth?”

Jedediah lifts a shoulder and reaches out to sooth Sweet Pea when she nickers.

“I was just spoutin’ off. But it’s likely. The whole building seems neglected. The floors are dusty-dirty. Grates are left to rust.” He shrugs again. “This place ain’t _loved_.”

Octavius nods, taking it in. “A sad state of affairs.”

“Yup,” Jedediah agrees. “There’s so much history here.” Jedediah looks up and turns in a full circle. “So much learnin' — anything you could ever want to know or explore. And it’s all going to waste.”

Octavius hums his reply.

“I mean, take Gus.”

Octavius arches an eyebrow. “You mean Sunshine?”

Jedediah looks over at him. “Yeah.” He grins. “ _Him_.”

He dips his head.

“Here he is, surrounded by all this dad-blame magic, and he don't even appreciate it. Dead people coming to life, strange creatures roamin’ the halls. And he ain’t filled with wonder. Ain't moved. He ain't making enough money. Well, let me tell ya, I had money once. Loads of it. And it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Didn't make my folks happy. Never did. It made everything worse when they tried to get more of it. If I were Gus, they wouldn’t even have to pay me."

Jedediah shrugs.

"But he’s sore 'cause he has to chase after the African exhibit, when all they want to do is run and play and —”

“Eat us?” Octavius supplies.

Jedediah pulls a face.

“Okay, fine. Maybe some of ‘em want to eat us. But you saw that brazen little monkey. They ain’t all bad.” He shakes his head, shrugs. “I don’t get it.”

“This is a different time. Priorities may have changed. Or perceptions. It shouldn't be for us to judge. All things are made clear in hindsight. We’ve already lived and taken our fair share of wonders for granted. I doubt my opinion would be much better than Gus’s if I were responsible for keeping order here. Perhaps it is easier to see the complications rather than the magic."

Jedediah freezes and rests his gloved hand on Sweet Pea’s neck. He slants his eyes sideways and pulls another face.

“Don’t it get exhausting always rushing to take their side?"

Octavius gives him a look.

"I’m not. I’m simply looking at matters from a different perspective. Surely you didn’t see the magic in all things when you were living in your own time period. You were no doubt too busy surviving.”

Jedediah raises both his eyebrows.

“Are you kidding?" he scoffs. "Magic was in the air I breathed. Every tree. Every rock! I could look up into the sky and see shapes in a patch of clouds. Or see the man in the moon at night. It was everywhere! All the time. Every day was a new adventure.”

Octavius smiles. Typical for Jedediah to be contrary.

"Oh! And eating off the land? The best! Venison! And, oh, —" Jedediah points at Octavius in his enthusiasm, "—morel mushrooms! Hot dang!" he whoops with joy. "God!” He bounces up and down. “My mouth is watering just thinking about ‘em! They only came in season in the spring. March through May. I could've shown you which ones were safe to pick. Some are tricky. Poisonous, but they look tasty. Like wild berries. But I'd’ve steered ya proper, by-gum. And I could cook. Cook ya up a fine mess of them. Ain't nothing better. Good eatin'!"

Seeing as how their conversation wandered off the beaten path and could go on for quite some time with Jedediah waxing poetic over his favorite foods, Octavius interrupts.

"And yet, you had no one to share in these simple pleasures. _That_ is a tragedy."

Jedediah pats Sweet Pea, cooing to her. "Weren't alone, was I, girl?"

The steed bobs her head and snorts out a breath.

“Traitor,” Jedediah gently chastises. He mock-glares at her. "We’ve talked about this. You don't go around revealin’ all ya know. That’s tellin’ tales out of school."

Eyes serious, Sweet Pea blows out a loud breath through her nostrils.

“Well, cause it ain’t proper, that’s why. Nobody likes a tattletale."

She ducks her head and nuzzles against Jedediah, knocking his hat askew and nibbling his hair.

“Hey, you! That ain’t hay you got there! It's attached. Ow!” Jedediah pulls back and holds out a palm to ward her off. “You know better. And you ain’t forgiven.”

The steed whinnies in protest.

“Nope,” Jedediah says, shaking his head firmly, eyes distant. He slides his gaze back with a grin.

Exhaling a breath, she nickers in distress, and leans her weight against Jedediah.

Relenting, Jedediah smiles softly and gently bumps her head with his.

"Alright, alright, alright! Quit your groveling. It ain’t becoming. Sheesh!"

Octavius exhales loudly at their antics. He is now of the firm opinion that Jedediah could argue with a tree stump.

And then his thoughts turn pensive.

"You may have had the right idea choosing solitude. I _thought_ I had someone." His eyes grow distant. "You may not believe it now, but I was a devoted husband. It was a political maneuver, yes, but I was also besotted. Only..." Octavius lifts a hand in a vague motion, fumbling for words. "...she was not quite so enthralled as I.”

Losing his smile, Jedediah goes quiet. At first his gaze is speculative, but then he tilts his head, eyes filling with compassion and empathy.

Octavius furrows his brow and swallows. He’s surprised, never having admitted his unhappiness to anyone, much less himself.

Feeling his throat catch, he dips his head. He takes a deep, calming breath and lifts his chin.

"If you will excuse me," he stammers. With a respectful bow, he strides ahead, putting distance between him and his company.

He can feel Jedediah’s gaze on his back, following him into the gloom.

* * *

_Later…_

They are back to keeping pace with one another when there is a _tap-tap-tapping_ sound and Octavius senses Jedediah stop and turn to face the noise.

Octavius halts as well.

"What happened? Why did we stop?” Octavius asks.

“You’ll see.”

Octavius gives Jedediah a level look.

Jedediah pulls lightly at Sweet Pea’s reins, halting her as well.

She watches him with patient interest.

“A man’s gotta have some mystery about him.”

Octavius arches a brow. “Trust me, Jedediah, you have quite enough already.”

Jedediah pulls a face, but relents.

“Every once in awhile, there’s like this _loco_ wind.” He pauses, seemingly searching for the right words. “Not a problem, mind. But it’s preceded by tapping and clicking noises. It don’t hurt, but it’s best to plant your feet and stand your ground rather than have it sneak up on ya unawares.”

“A _loco_ wind?” Octavius repeats in an odd voice, perplexed.

“It’s wind, only it ain’t no _real_ wind.” Jedediah shrugs. “It’s why I call this place a wind tunnel. Hard to explain. When it picks up, it wants to drag you along with it. Cools the place down, but the air ain’t fresh. Don’t smell right.”

Suddenly, as Jedediah predicted, there is a sharp _click-click-click_ , and then a terrible noise, an amplified gear-grinding thrum.

Octavius’s entire being vibrates with it.

Jedediah turns his head. Octavius follows his gaze toward the sound floating toward them, hand poised over his sword hilt.

As though summoned, the wind sweeps through. The cold breeze is icy enough to make Octavius’s teeth chatter.

The unnatural wind whips Jedediah's hair across his face beneath his Stetson, which Jedediah grabs, his knuckles tight, and holds to his head. He turns his face, squinting into the wind as the gust plucks at his blue shirt. It sweeps caressingly over him, causing the material to ripple over his chest.

Air blows up Octavius’s pteruges, billowing high above his waist to reveal his gray undergarments. He bends forward, trying to pull them modestly back over his thighs where they belong in deference to his company. The wind adds insult to injury, raising pebbled gooseflesh over his skin and is almost cold enough to steal his breath as he hunches his shoulders against the chill.

The air lifts Sweet Pea's mane and tail, causing her to flatten her ears and whinny in agitation.

It tries lifting them off their feet, off the ground, wind whirling and roaring around them, but it doesn’t quite have the strength for it.

Jedediah was right. The air is stale and musty with a distinct odor of grime.

Whatever sorcery at work gives a cough, sputters, shudders, and dies.

The howling wind is no more.

Leftover dust motes float around them, shimmering in the half-light like rare gems.

Octavius leans forward, bracing himself on his knees, shivering from the cold, and watching Jedediah.

Jedediah folds his arms over his chest. Wayward strands of blond hair fall into his eyes as he glances down, toeing the floor with his boot.

His feathered locks are askew. It is bathed in pale, silvery light. With shadows of the vent painting long, dark, horizontal stripes across his face, it makes Jedediah appear fierce and otherworldly.

Octavius tilts his head.

Jedediah’s gaze glints.

"Colder than a well digger's hind end, ain't it? "

Octavius still mesmerized by the tousled mop, stirs at last, recovers his equilibrium, and clears his throat. "I don't know. It wasn’t so bad,” he says, refusing to complain. He stands with chilled arms clasped behind his back and rocks back on his heels.

Nodding to the shimmering dust motes, he says, “It has its uses.”

Jedediah turns a shoulder so Octavius can see his profile through the semi-darkness, as well as the humor in his eyes.

“Uh-huh.”

“I found it quite refreshing," Octavius insists, combing a shaking hand through his hair.

“Liar."

Octavius inclines his head. “As you say.”

Jedediah tips his hat — the gesture knowing and personal. “By the way, nice bloomers,” he says and begins walking.

Octavius tilts his head, feeling tingling warmth spread through him.

“They are undergarments.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Jedediah calls back. “Whatever you say, hoss.” He raises his eyebrows, a provocative light shining in his eyes. “By the way, your precious under breeches have a hole in 'em.”

Sweet Pea blinks and pricks her ears to the side, nickering softly.

Octavius jerks his chin down, abruptly blushing. He turns around and checks.

He brings his gaze up with a scowl and whirls.

“I do not.”

“Made ya look!” Jedediah calls back. He pivots, walking backward. “Who’s adorable now, sweet cheeks?”

“But you said I had a hole!” Octavius protests, hands curling into fists.

With a laugh, Jedediah turns back around and saunters off. Sweet Pea trails behind, tail swishing, the heavy pound of her hooves bouncing around the cavern.

Octavius sputters indignantly and stomps after them.


	10. Get Along Little Doggies, Part Five

_Later…_

They trudge along, Jedediah leading the way. The tunnel is a part of a network of twisting labyrinths and corridors. He appears confident and knowledgeable about where he's going, but it's a long trek.

Or perhaps Octavius is simply tired. He's had quite the harrowing adventure over the last couple nights and it's taking its toll.

Even though he's worn down, Octavius refuses to complain.

Instead, he keeps marching elbow to elbow with Jedediah, matching his stride and falls into the simple rhythm of walking.

He thinks this may have turned into another one of their contests, although he isn't quite certain when, or how, it happened.

Nevertheless, Jedediah cocks his head to the side, seemingly perceiving Octavius’s fatigue in the curve of his shoulders and the way it’s taking an ever increasing span of time for him to contribute to their conversation or make disparaging remarks about their surroundings.

There is a heaviness to his steps, and he keeps fighting the urge to rub his eyes. Stumbling, he turns around. He's tripped over nothing. Grimly picking up his feet, he can feel Jedediah watching him now every so often — even though when Octavius glances over to scowl, he can never quite catch him doing it.

Octavius isn’t certain, but he thinks their pace may have slowed. He doesn’t have the energy to feel offense and is secretly relieved when his companion calls a halt to their journey for the night with a simple, “Alright.”

They _make camp_ , as Jedediah puts it, before the rising of the sun.

Sweet Pea lies down flat on her side, ears twitching. She snorts softly for a few moments, content, and then falls asleep, not a care in the world.

Octavius gropes around in the semi-darkness, distancing himself from his traveling companions. He finds a spot where he can sit up and keep watch with minimum discomfort.

Due to all the creaks, groans, and hiccups the tunnel makes, he's still not entirely certain they aren’t being followed.

With a look of disgust, he wipes at the unclean wall at his back, bothered that his hair will get dirty.

He's bothered even more when every swipe of his hand makes a crude rhythmic-popping noise.

The sound is indecent, suggestive of another far more intimate and diverting action. If Teddy were to hear it, there would be no end to he and Jedediah being thought of as a couple with an incredibly active and healthy sex life.

He stops the action, and then reconsiders.

It would serve Jedediah right after embarrassing him with the imaginary hole in his undergarments, especially after he tried to be mindful and respectful of Jedediah's backward culture's sensibilities.

His eyes glint with mischief, and he resumes the action.

Octavius's face lights up and he smiles evilly now—all teeth.

His thoughts become more charitable. Perhaps it will inspire Teddy to take action regarding his lady love.

With Sacajawea’s freedom now in mind, he gives one final, hard shove-slash-swipe at the tunnel wall, putting his weight into it, and cheers Teddy on in spirit.

Oblivious, Jedediah — the dear, innocent, sacrificial lamb that he is in all this and who, up until this moment, had been staring at him with his head cocked and arms folded — grins broadly.

He drops his head into his palms when Octavius pulls back his hand with a stream of invective oaths at the tangled, grimey wad of cobwebs webbing his fingers.

Disgusted, Octavius flaps his hand to remove the filth and then contorts himself, hopping up and down on one foot, wiping most of the sticky mess on the bottom of his sandals.

He glances up, one eyebrow lifted, scowling. He lifts his hand in accusation, showing Jedediah, head now lifted, the remaining cobwebs with a look of indignant mortification.

Jedediah chokes on a laugh, causing him to cough spasmodically, head ducked.

“Ockie," Jedediah says, at last, lifting his eyes. He leans forward, knees drawn up and rests his arms atop them. Blue eyes are intense in his nonchalance. "Stop being so melodramatic. A little dirt and grime never hurt anybody.”

“Tell that to my lungs.”

Jedediah squints at him. “Y’know, your face is gonna get stuck like that if you ain't careful."

Octavius pulls another face, wrinkling his nose.

"So I continue hearing from all and sundry," he says, voice low, with a dismissive wave. He shakes the remaining cobweb off, and pulls his paludamentum snugly around him like a blanket.

He’s really quite proud of himself, having repressed his shiver and the instinctual sneer over the name. He’s grown accustomed, desensitized, really, to the term _big baby_ over the years, (he barely flinches anymore) but _Ockie_ sets his teeth to grinding like the previous name used to. It rankles. He doesn't know what it is about that name, but he loathes it. Utterly and absolutely. He realizes he must never allow Jedediah to pick up on this or the dreadful moniker will stick. He prefers his own name or the shortened down ' _Tavius_ much better. It sounds intimate, like an old friend. _Octy_ he can tolerate. Barely.

"It's not my face I'm concerned about,” he adds. “By the gods, Jedediah, I swear to you. If we meet up with the gigantic spider that made these cobwebs, on top of everything else, I'm never speaking with you again. You are a danger to both my health and my sanity."

With that, he lifts his chin and settles his head back against the wall with a tinny pop, annoyed.

He sees Jedediah's lips twist up out of the corner of his eye.

"As though one measly spider could stop your bellyaching. Take it like a man."

Octavius lifts his head to glower at him. There's another tinny pop.

" _You_ take it like a man."

"Come on! Live a little. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I left it back in the adjoining rooms where your pet cobra tried to devour you. You lack even the self-preservation instinct the gods gave an impala!" Octavius snaps. More gently, he says, "You have a startling lack of good judgment. Your common sense is nil. You must learn to take better care of yourself. Not every creature likes you or wants to be tamed."

Jedediah's expression grows fond.

"Careful, hoss. You're starting to sound like ya care."

Octavius curses Jedediah in his own tongue. In his profound annoyance, he is tempted to go back to wiping down the walls with renewed vigor. He'll have this tunnel polished to a high shine and sparkling when he's through.

The whole of the museum will believe he has staked his claim, several times over, and it will be glorious.

He cuts his eyes over.

"Beloved," he begins airily, and lifts his hand, "have you a rag I might borrow?"

Jedediah works his jaw, eyes narrowed to slits, shrewd and knowing. He leans forward again with a shake of his head, meeting Octavius’s eyes.

"Not on your life, baby cakes." _  
_

_Drat!_

Foiled!

"Hmm. It is no matter." He allows his gaze to drift. After a beat, Octavius leans forward again. “Yes, I do care when one of my traveling companions takes so little interest in preserving his life.” His tone is thick with disapproval. “Especially when his reckless behavior puts my own life in jeopardy."

Jedediah drops his shrewd gaze, brow furrowing.

"Seemed like the best option at the time.” He lifts his eyes. “I wouldn't have let ya get hurt if I could help it.”

It looks like he’s going to say more, but he breaks off and stares into the distance. Removing his Stetson, he studies it thoughtfully. He puzzles over it, turning it around and around in his hands.

“Ya know, this ain't my hat."

Octavius blinks at this nonsensical observation, and tilts his head.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course it's your hat, you fool."

Frustrated at Octavius's lack of understanding, Jedediah hunches forward with a helpless up-fling of his hands. His mouth thins.

He closes his eyes and raises his face towards the ceiling. Searching.

“D'you remember when them Mayans snatched one of your boys?"

Wondering what this has to do with anything, Octavius replies, "Lucius. His name is Lucius."

Jedediah opens his eyes and looks at him.

"Lucius. Eh, yeah. Right. Okay. Lucius.” He pauses, drawing in a long breath. “You went off half-cocked and decided that taking on all the Mayans at once was your new life goal. You said you did it ‘cause your boys were all you had.”

Octavius tries to remain aloof. Fails. The expression in his eyes softens.

"You remember that?"

"Son. I remember _everything._ " Gaze piercing and intense, Jedediah continues. "Them Mayan boys were skulking around, watchin’ ya, just chompin’ at the bit for you to give up and fall over so they could drag ya off."

Taken aback, Octavius pauses. Focus turning inward, he tries to pull the memory from the air.

"I don't remember that."

Jedediah waves a hand.

"The point here, amigo, is that the horse is _mine_." Palm to his chest, he says, "She’s _my_ Lucius."

He lifts a corner of his leather vest and then his Stetson.

"These clothes, this hat? They ain’t mine." He shrugs, shakes his head. "This whole fancy-smancy get-up. All for show. All I got is me and the horse I rode in on. She's _mine._ All mine. And I ain’t letting anything bad happen to what’s mine. And nothing and nobody bigger than me, smarter than me, or meaner than me is taking her away," Jedediah says firmly, "‘Cause I'll fight tooth and nail ta' keep what's mine. So don't go jumpin' all over me for something ya already done yourself. ‘Cause at the end of the day —" and Jedediah points at Octavius’s armor-plated chest, “— I'm just like you."

Octavius looks away and purses his lips. He smiles, not happily, but he smiles. He does understand. He does. That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

After a few moments of contemplation, he turns back and inclines his head politely, bestowing his reluctant approval.

He realizes Jedediah is being genuine with him. Gave an honest answer that wasn't flippant or cagey or steeped in riddles — a reply that wasn't a one-upmanship, but heartfelt and true.

He decides to return the favor.

"Do you realize that I have traversed the whole of Africa, and never once ran into the kinds of trouble I have whilst in your company?”

Jedediah tilts his head at the seeming change in subject, intrigued. His whole being seems to light up. He’s back to resting his arms over his knees. “Africa.” His eyes go dreamy-wide. He leans forward, taken in, the explorer in him rising to the surface. He squints, genuinely curious. “What was it like?”

Octavius lifts both his eyebrows and answers honestly.

“Hot.”

The skin around Jedediah’s eyes instantly crinkles up and he laughs — rich, full laughter. His whole body shakes with it. He slaps his thigh.

"Doggone it! You got me good!"

Octavius smiles shyly. He thinks Jedediah really is quite attractive when he laughs. Even after Octavius masters himself, his eyes twinkle at being the cause of it.

“Well, I reckon you ain’t wrong,” Jedediah says after composing himself.

His smile is breathtaking. The man may not have classical features or a delicate, androgynous comeliness, but he is very easy on the eyes nevertheless. His irrepressible personality shines.

Especially when he smiles like _that_.

Jedediah hums softly to himself and leans back against his steed. He keeps watching Octavius, appraising what he sees. In the dim light, his eyes are dark and unreadable.

Eventually, he says, “G'night,’ hoss,” and tips his hat over his eyes.

Head down, arms folded, he crosses his legs at the ankles.

Octavius mirrors Jedediah's repose. He settles his head back against the side of the tunnel wall again with a sigh, and receives another tinny pop for his trouble. His sword rests across his lap, at the ready, should he have need of it.

Bereft of company, he watches the shadows play along the walls.

If he is quiet, he can just make out the chaos unfolding from the much larger exhibits outside the tunnel and finds himself fascinated by it.

He smiles when he hears the occasional roar of _Skeletor_ , happily at play.

His brow furrows in confusion and he lifts his head, blinking. He thinks he may have just heard someone call everyone _Dum-dums_.

Octavius looks up at the silvery darkness. With a pang, he realizes he misses the stars.

He's tired, but it's a good, happy sort of tired. After a few breaths, he blinks his eyes closed, thinking he'll rest them for only a moment.

* * *

_Later...  
_

Octavius awakens with a start. He lifts his head from where it now rests — on his crossed arms atop knees he’s pulled to his chest. A tense sense of excitement furls in his belly. His hand automatically drifts to his sword now lying at his side.

Seeing no immediate danger, he glances toward his companion.

Jedediah is mumbling gibberish.

Vindicated that Jedediah talks in his sleep, Octavius’s lips curve up in a little smile of triumph.

Jedediah makes another unintelligible noise.

Sometime during the night, he's tipped his hat from his head and rolled up on his side, curled into a ball. His gloved hand twitches.

Intrigued, Octavius watches a burst of rapid eye movement in the dim light. He isn’t certain if Jedediah is having a nightmare or not, but from his perspective, it doesn’t appear as though it is a pleasant dream either. And after the night they've had fending off a venomous serpent, it’s little wonder. Octavius tilts his head and frowns.

Concerned, he rises, sheaths his sword, and moves over to squat beside him.

Hesitating, he watches for a long moment and considers. At last, he brushes his fingertips against a blue-clothed wrist, quietly gentling him.

“You’re alright,” he murmurs in a low tone. “You're dreaming.”

Jedediah hums a reply and tucks his chin.

Octavius snorts delicately, lips twitching, and does nothing for a few breaths, searching Jedediah’s face. “I don't care what you say. I still find you adorable. At least when you're unconscious,” he teases.

Jedediah's brow furrows, and he mumbles something unintelligible. Octavius marvels, arching an eyebrow at having been told off.

Even in sleep Jedediah argues with him.

"Hush," Octavius says. "All is well."

Jedediah obeys this time. His breathing evens out and resumes its slow, measured tempo of deep sleep.

There is a _tap-tap-tapping_ sound, followed by a sharp click-click-click.

Octavius looks up and braces himself for the gear-grinding thrum and the chill wind. He's dealt with it several times already now and considers making an unheroic dive behind the steed to escape its icy touch. The piercing air is like a blade, cutting through him.

Even despite their very obvious differences in attire, he still doesn't see how Jedediah withstood a week of this on his own.

Considering that thought, he chooses not to leave his companion to the devastating wind alone. He hunkers down, low and close, offering some measure of warmth, and awaits for the torture to begin anew.

It never comes.

Octavius lifts his head. He blinks and leans forward, curious in spite of himself, wondering if whatever magic creating this tempest is lulling him into a false sense of security.

The tunnel gives a soft, shuddering cough and sputters once, not unlike the final death rattle of some strange beast.

All is silent once again.

Octavius sniffs. No doubt the spider got it.

He sits back against the hellbeast and watches the play of shadows once again along the silvery walls.

A sudden bolt of dread snaps him to attention.

Blinding illumination bounces its way through the tunnel. The source of the stream of light is unknown, but seems to be coming through a grate several paces away.

Octavius doesn’t know how he knows, but the light appears to be searching.

Instinct for self-preservation takes over.

Octavius ducks his head, scowling up through his lashes, defiant, when the illumination catches the shine of his armor.

He remains perfectly still, holds his breath, and continues glowering. Forces himself not to blink when he begins seeing spots of light dot his vision.

When the illumination moves along, he rises slowly to a crouch on silent, sandaled feet. Somehow he knows it isn’t over.

His eyes gleam in the dark, hard and challenging. One hand is poised above the steed’s side, and the other hovering, protective and possessive, over Jedediah. He’s prepared to silence him should he awaken abruptly, if need be.

The hellbeast stirs, lifts her head, and nickers softly, warning him away from her human.

“Sshh.”

Sweet Pea sees the light — quite literally. She stills and doesn’t neigh.

The light sweeps back, still searching. And as the illumination intensifies, Octavius’s heart pounds. He has a fierce, overwhelming desire to slink back into the relative safety of the shadows. He doesn’t, choosing to remain beside his traveling companions.

The illumination takes longer to pass this time, but eventually it moves on, not finding its quarry.

Octavius remains still for a long while after the illumination dissipates, watching for any sign of its return. Realizing he's still holding his breath, he relaxes his crouch, relieved they have gone unnoticed. He feels, perhaps unreasonably, as though disaster has been narrowly averted.

Exhaling sharply, he heaves a shuddering sigh.

Once he is certain they are alone and will remain unmolested, his knees give out and he settles out of his defensive crouch.

He pats the hellbeast, praising her, letting her know how proud he is. She nuzzles his hand and swishes her tail like a dog before returning to sleep with a long, equine sigh.

Before he knows it, his breathing slows until he is almost dozing.

In increments, his eyes close, and he slides down against the steed to curl on his side resting with his back toward Jedediah.

He is not yet fully asleep when, even through his armor, he feels pressure at his back.

Octavius’s eyes snap open.

Jedediah nuzzles up against his spine in his sleep, like a puppy, one arm wrapping around Octavius's torso, drawing him close.

Octavius shudders, feeling Jedediah’s warm breath against his neck. He's tingling, excruciatingly aware of the body pressed against his own.

Gooseflesh rises where Jedediah touches him, unexpected energy crackling under the skin.

It brings him bolt upright. He glances back and doesn't move a muscle. For a long time he gazes intently at Jedediah, searching, evaluating whether or not he is being toyed with.

Jedediah remains sound asleep, dead to the world. It appears that in slumber, at least, he has zero personal boundaries.

Octavius’s pulse quickens. He wills away the blood rushing to his cheeks before it decides to settle elsewhere.

This growing interest he seems to have developed in Jedediah brings home the realization, once again, that for decades, he has not sought after companionship of any kind. In fact, he has shunned it.

He has his army, true — men who are loyal to both himself and to Rome, but that is all. His army is populated by career soldiers who relinquished the prime of their lives to him centuries ago and look to him to inspire and direct them. It is all they have ever known. As such, it is a responsibility he does not take lightly. For it is easy to see his soldiers as his children. For all intents and purposes, he is their father. And that is precisely how he treats them.

Every single one.

He does not seek out favorites, nor does he treat one any different from another.

To them all, he is caring, encouraging, and accessible, but there is also an impenetrable barrier he’s built between himself and them that makes him distant and aloof out of necessity.

He does not claim the same paternal instinct with Jedediah.

Something about this man speaks to him.

This fledgling camaraderie brims with all things bright, igniting something unfamiliar in his breast, but it is also sharp-edged and dangerous. Very dangerous.

Jedediah hums in his sleep.

Almost against his will, languor steals over Octavius, and he finds he has to tear his gaze free before his spine melts into the contact.

He knows he ought to move, and quickly, to behave with self-discipline and the proper decorum the situation warrants, not trusting himself to act honorably.

Allowing his hand to comb through the tousled mop only once, Octavius enjoys the feel of the blond strands falling between his fingers. He enjoys petting, the gesture affectionate and soothing.

Jedediah shivers.

Octavius frowns. The back of his hand touches Jedediah's forehead experimentally.

He draws back.

Jedediah is chilled to the bone. He burrows closer, seeking warmth. Even the tip of his nose is cold.

Unwrapping his paludamentum from his shoulders, Octavius gallantly drapes it over his companion, tucking it in around him.

“It would appear you require this more than I,” he whispers kindly, gently reaching to touch the side of Jedediah’s chilled face.

Jedediah makes a soft, contented sound. A little smile curves, hovering at the corner of his mouth. Gradually he grows warm and rolls in the opposite direction.

Abruptly, Octavius sobers as a stray thought hits him. His heart gives a strange, funny little lurch and he wonders, not for the first time, precisely what he thinks he's doing.

He realizes his perceptions cannot be trusted; they never could. If his erstwhile marriage taught him anything, it is that he has a tendency of forming attachments where none exist. It is his own failing.

Octavius restrains a flinch at the sudden ache seizing his throat. He is well beyond the first wild anguish of memory regarding his wife, Livia. Nevertheless, it still hurts. Terribly. If truth were told, he takes a very dim view of marriage, knowing deep in his soul, that in this, at least, he is something broken. He only continues teasing Jedediah with it because it keeps getting a rise out of him. And because he blushes so prettily.

His eyes close for a painful moment, the twinkle in them fading, and he flashes a flip, hollow smile. He feels very weary now. Old. In fact, he is ancient; he feels his years tonight. Gaze now full of shadows, he pulls himself together and quietly scoots out of easy reach.

Octavius settles back against Sweet Pea, who nickers softly at being disturbed again.

His mood bothers her. She senses his distress.

He pats the hellbeast’s shoulder until she quiets, murmuring words of comfort, and stares up at the strange silvery ceiling. He watches it for a few moments, feeling the cool metal biting into his thighs, unable to settle on any one thought. Twisting on his side, he curls up with a sigh.

His breath falls into sync with his companion's. He closes his eyes, allowing the heavy weight of exhaustion to pull him under.

Even across the distance that separates them, he rolls over on his back, his hand stretching toward Jedediah in his sleep.

* * *

_Later…  
_

Dawn finds them in repose, their skin hardening, and turning shiny and artificial. They are frozen where they lie as day breaks.

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius is jarred awake by a sharp, shrill cry, high and wild.

“Help! Help! I’ve been turned into a Texan Burrito against my will!”

Octavius turns his head, trying to make his face hard and disapproving. Laughter spills out of him, unbidden, at the sight he is met with.

Jedediah lies a few feet away, a cocooned lump. He’s tangled up within his makeshift blanket, eyes dark and slightly unfocused. His hair is once again sticking up at odd angles. Somehow, he’s twisted himself up in his sleep, essentially trapping himself.

Octavius shakes his head in amazement, not believing what he’s seeing. Rising to his feet, there is an almost wondering expression on his face.

“How?”

Jedediah’s head jerks up. A quick flare of accusation kindles behind his eyes, making Octavius grimace.

“You!”

So perhaps the _how_ is easy enough to explain. Standing at attention, Octavius’s eyes slide over to fix on a point just over Jedediah’s shoulder, common sense telling him it is dangerous to look into the center of an exploding sun. He takes a deep breath, slowly letting it out again.

“You were chilled,” he explains with a sniff, feeling a bristle of annoyance.

Blue eyes — the color of a tumultuous sky — flicker up, capturing his gaze. Then Jedediah gives him an exasperated look that speaks for itself, and kicks to untangle his legs. Or, well. He tries to untangle his legs. Contorting himself, he works at shaking loose, but the paludamentum has a mind of its own, coiling ever tighter around his limbs.

“Dagnabit!” He makes a squeaking sound when his efforts don’t quite work they way he wants them to. “Come on!”

Octavius says nothing, a non-committal expression on his face, but there’s a hot riot of laughter building once again in his belly.

In fascination, Octavius watches as Jedediah finally frees his arms. He’s half expecting to hear an audible _pop_ when the paludamentum, at last, gives ground.

“What kind of fandangled operation you running here?” That is very definitely a whine. “Why'd’ja go and tie me up for anyways? Payback?” Jedediah's eyes narrow, wary. “I heard tell about them fellas who go all unconscious-like and wake up in a tub with their kidneys missing. All cause they hung out with the wrong crowd.” He pulls a face. “Kidney snatchers. You ain’t stealing my kidneys, boy!”

Octavius crosses his arms. He knows he should feel affronted over this unfounded and completely ridiculous accusation. All he experiences is exasperated amusement.

“I did not tie you up, you buffoon. I covered you. What you do with my paludamentum in your sleep is your own affair.” He eases down, sitting cross-legged. “Your kidneys are precisely where you left them,” he says at his most indulgent.

Jedediah blinks owlishly. "Oh..." he manages, still grumpy. His mouth twists, and his gaze goes distant for a moment. "Wait, no. That's — no." He scrubs both hands over his face, fingers digging into his scalp, and pauses a moment to mull it over. "Well, alright. I reckon that makes sense.”

Octavius tilts his head, genuinely curious. “Whatever would I do with your kidneys?”

Jedediah sighs gustily. He squints, eyes roving around the tunnel. “I don’t know,” he says, affronted again, and rolls his head. “That’s between you and my kidneys, ain’t it? You’d likely have some nefarious purpose in mind.” Even the low drawl confirms he is still not fully awake. His curling up on his side and laying his head back down only convinces Octavius further on the matter.

“What were you dreaming about?”

Jedediah shrugs.

“This kidney business must have come from somewhere,” Octavius prompts, looking for illumination.

Jedediah shrugs again, but murmurs, “Legends. Tall tales. Callin’ the dog. Settlers, ya see, they were from all over — different cultures. I got to witness firsthand all their folklore mergin’ together into this one great big giant hodgepodge of mythology and oral tradition. Making the old feel new again. It was something, really. I got to hear loads of all these folktales out on the trail. When the menfolk were too wound up to sleep, but too tired to do anything else, they’d make up stories ‘round the campfire ta’ pass the time.” His tone sounds worlds away. “Some good. And some — well, terrible, actually.”

“Ah. And was this the story you told? Was it yours?”

Jedediah shakes his head. His mouth thins.

"Just listened. Had me some real doozies cooked up, though," he murmurs, eyes blinking closed. "Never contributed."

Octavius shakes his head at this sweet, withdrawn Jedediah of the past — a man with plenty to say, but who, for whatever reason, muzzled himself. Too quiet and too shy to share what was on his mind.

"You should have."

“Yeah…I know.”

They lapse into a companionable silence, and Octavius studies the blinking, blue eyes; the messy blond hair.

He marvels over the fact that this may be the first time they’ve had an honest-to-goodness conversation after being newly-awoken that hasn’t devolved into an argument or had them at each other’s throats. It’s even more amazing that Jedediah must feel it, too, because he simply lies there, vulnerable, not expecting an attack or scrambling to defend himself.

He watches Jedediah doze for several heartbeats.

Cognizant of the scrutiny, Jedediah’s brow furrows. “Alright, alright. I'm up.” Blowing out a breath, he climbs to his feet. He whips his hair out of his eyes.

Octavius gives an imperious, slow perusal of his sleepy companion, allowing his gaze to flicker down the length of Jedediah’s body.

If Jedediah held his arms just right, he could pass for Roman. A slightly odd, excessively overdressed Roman, wrapped up like he is in his paludamentum burrito and his fancy get-up, but a Roman nevertheless.

Octavius likes what he sees. Very much.

“You look ridiculous,” he chides, feigning disinterest.

It is a bald-faced lie, of course. He has never seen a burrito, has no idea or even a concept of what it is supposed to be, but if it looks anything like Jedediah, then it must be magnificent.

Jedediah blinks at him quizzically for a moment. He appears like he’s going to argue, but then closes his mouth and leans to one side and nearly tips over. His mouth twists up into a sheepish half smile when he recovers his balance.

Octavius quivers with the effort not to laugh. He rises and stretches out his hand.

“Oh, come here, you dolt, before you fall over and crack your skull open,” he says. The proffered hand belies the sharp edge to his voice. If anyone listened, really listened, to his tone and not his words, they would hear the rich amusement hidden there.

Jedediah kicks, wriggles, and twists, a bundle of contorting limbs. He ignores Octavius’s proffered hand.

“I got it. I got it,” he grumbles. "Don't baby me."

Octavius scowls and drops his hand.

"I'm not babying you, nitwit!"

Sweet Pea rolls to her feet and lets out an impatient snort, and nudges Jedediah toward Octavius with her large head.

The action sends Jedediah stumbling. He would have face-planted if Octavius hadn’t caught him.

They hold their startled pose for a moment, frozen in surprise, still clutching each other. There is a very real sense of deja vu from the evening before.

Jedediah’s eyes fly up to meet Octavius’s. There is a flicker of _something_ , along with a rising panic in his gaze that seems to kindle.

Octavius cannot read the emotion — this unfamiliar glow — it is too fleeting, but in their sudden stunned silence, the air temperature around them rises a notch.

Jedediah’s brow knits in confusion, his mouth dropping open in slow motion.

Then Jedediah startles, breath catching — all bright eyes and flushed cheeks. A dark red blush spreads down his neck. A priceless, perfect blend of profound shock and outrage writes novels in every irate line of his face.

“Listen, you. Since I’ve been in this here museum. I’ve had ta’ place grown men — all of whom are rough as cobs — in _time-out_. I’ve had to settle disputes between Doc Holliday and Johnny Ringo ‘cause they got _grievances._ And I’ve had to talk Black Bart down from his twitterpated state before he up and penned dirty limericks about Calamity Jane all over the side of the iron horse. ‘Cause she’d whup ‘em seven ways ta' Sunday and then get nasty about it. I’ve wrangled and corralled the wiliest and woolliest,” he says, building up steam for a colossal rant.

“But you,” he says low. “Out of all of ‘em, kemosabe! You! You are _the_ _most_ grabbin’est man —! Hands off, willya? No touching! I can't think straight!" He waves a hand wildly around himself. "See this? This here's my own personal bubble.” Still waving his hand. “ _Respect the bubble_!”

Jedediah pushes Octavius hard on the shoulders and stumbles backward when Octavius abruptly releases him. He loses his footing, trips, and lets out a squeak of surprise when he lands on his rump.

He does not bounce.

Head hung low, fists clenched and shaking, Jedediah shouts, “Dagnabit!”

Arms akimbo, Octavius sighs. “A personal bubble, indeed.”

Shoulders hunched, Jedediah’s gloved fingers tangle in his own hair, but then his expression softens, gifting Octavius with tiny, ridiculous half-smiles.

Octavius smiles back fondly. Having given Jedediah time to stop fuming, he asks, "Am I at least permitted to assist you up?"

He holds out his hand.

Jedediah smacks it.

"Personal bubble!" he wails, fingers clenched. "We ain't married!"

Octavius folds his arms over his chest.

"Very well."

After a beat, Jedediah glances up in blue-eyed amazement, looking as though he's had an epiphany.

Composing himself, he finally throws off the paludamentum and draws his knees to his chest. He clears his throat and jerks his head at the offending article.

“That was a mighty powerful gesture. Right neighborly."

Octavius stops smiling and lifts his chin. He sneers at the acknowledgment over his lapse in judgment and pulls his arrogance around him for protection.

“It was nothing of the kind,” he snaps. “It was practical. You were cold. I wasn’t.”

Jedediah twists his head, blue eyes scrutinizing him. After a beat, he replies, "Mmm-hmm.”

Octavius is beginning to hate that sound. Hate it. He slides his eyes to the far wall, and refuses to respond. His gaze remains fixed in a stare of absolute superiority.

“You coulda just let me alone is all I'm sayin,’ Octy. The cold can’t hurt me anymore," Jedediah reasons very softly, tilting his head. "Ya know what? I don’t even wanna know which dingbat it was that went and drilled all these godawful, fool notions into your head. I’m here to tell ya different.” He leans forward. “Ain’t nothing shameful or wrong with being kind. It ain't weak.”

Octavius draws his gaze back and falters. Eyes glittering, he lifts his chin regally.

The tone Jedediah used was mild, not mocking. His expression is neutral, not smug like Octavius expected.

"You'll forgive me if I beg to differ with you.”

After several moments of silence, a muscle jumps in Jedediah’s jaw. He sighs and breaks eye contact. "Naturally.” He purses his lips and then blows out a breath. “I suppose you wouldn’t be you if ya didn’t wanna butt heads with me about something or other.” He looks up and smiles his ridiculous half-smile again, eyes sparkling with good humor.

The sight is mesmerizing. It takes Octavius some moments to recover his senses. He laughs despite himself.

Jedediah grins.

“I like it when you laugh, hoss. It peels years off ya. Makes ya shine up real nice. Before long, nobody’ll be able ta’ tell our ages apart.”

His words draw Octavius's gaze. His heart twists. He watches Jedediah now, but his attention has already been diverted.

Jedediah tilts back and glares up at his steed, upside down. All seriousness, he crooks his finger at her.

She ambles over, blowing through her nose.

“You think you’re funny, doncha?” Jedediah asks her. “T’ain’t proper to be pushing me into folk. They don’t like it. ‘Sides, you know better. More to the point, you know I know you know better. Wanna know what else I know? I’m onto you, little missy. You’re just showing off ‘cause we got company and you think you can get by with it.” He points at her, eyes stern. “Behave.”

Sweet Pea blinks at him, her deep brown eyes the picture of innocence. She snorts and flicks her ears, tail swishing.

Jedediah studies her coolly through squinting blue eyes for a long moment. At last, he lets loose a gust of air. “Alright,” he says, and puffs the hair out of his line of sight. He moves his hand to pat her leg affectionately.

Sweet Pea’s eyes dance.

* * *

_Later…_

They stare up at a large, horizontal vent.

“We’re here.” Jedediah spares Octavius a glance and then looks to his steed. “You’re going to hafta stay in the tunnel. You need me to tether ya so you don’t get spooked and run off? Or are ya fine?”

The steed blinks deep brown eyes at him, solemn and inscrutable. She shakes her heavy head. Ears flick once. She ambles over to the side of the tunnel and lies down.

Jedediah starts to move and then pauses.

“I can trust ya not to wander off this time, right? Be honest.”

Sweet Pea lifts her head importantly and blows out a loud breath of wounded pride.

“Well, alright, alright, alright!” He lifts his palms. “Just checking. Don’t go givin’ me guff. I get enough from _this_ one.” He points at Octavius.

Octavius arches an eyebrow. He’d been cupping an elbow with one hand, the other lifted to his chin. At Jedediah’s words, he drops his arm, aggravated. He denies the claim with a rude snort.

“I give you life, _darling._ ”

Jedediah throws a glance over his shoulder. “Can it, _cupcake_. I'm talkin' to the horse.”

Jedediah pats the hellbeast down and then saunters up to the vent. He hooks his thumbs in his belt, contemplating it.

And then he is bending his knees. He jumps, curls his fingers into the gap between the metal bars, and begins climbing hand over hand until he’s all the way at the top.

He pokes his head out and ducks back down.

"Yep. This is it. This is what I wanted to show you," Jedediah says, leaning his weight forward on his elbows. He waves for Octavius to join him. “Come on. Z’easy. Just like climbin’ up the side of a mountain.”

Octavius pulls a face.

“Joy.”

He moves to grab a handhold and, once again, mutters oaths when his hand comes away sticky-dirty. Beginning his assent, the bottom of his sandals scrapes against the metal rung with each step.

Once at the top, he peers out, his gaze sweeping over the connecting room. It is filled with shelves upon shelves of books, all shapes and sizes. Row after row. Mountains of tomes. Some old, some new.

They are at the center of this society’s culture.

"This here’s the library," Jedediah explains unnecessarily, tone quiet — almost reverent. His gaze slides across the room. “It’d take me a lifetime to read them all!”

"Why are you whispering?" Octavius whispers.

"Cause ya never know who's hiding out down here."

Octavius’s brow furrows, but he doesn't ask.

Jedediah smacks his shoulder hard enough that he is nearly knocked from his perch. As it is, Octavius has to hook his elbows around the rusty-dirty bars to keep from losing his footing, smearing grime on his face in the process. Disgusted, he makes a desperate sound.

“Jedediah!” he chastises in a whisper-shout.

"Hush, you. And come on."


	11. Get Along Little Doggies, Part Six

Jedediah lifts a brown leather-covered leg up and over the grill. Hands on his thighs, he straddles the bar, feet dangling, waiting for Octavius to join him. He even has the audacity to tip the brim of his hat.

Spluttering with indignation, Octavius mutters something less than charitable. He regains his footing and pulls himself the rest of the way up.

Once Octavius is back at the top, Jedediah leans over the side and stretches out, grabbing hold of a large, bright, swaying, yellow ribbon tied to one of the metal rungs of the grate. He gives it a cautious tug and then leisurely tilts his body sideways until he is looking at Octavius upside down through the bars.

How gravity fails to claim that ridiculous hat of his off the top of his head is a mystery. His blond locks hang loose, springing out the sides of the Stetson, gleaming a pale wheat color in the soft spill of light, untamed and wild.

Through the space separating them, his blue eyes blaze, sparkle, and shine with Jedediah’s bold, adventurous spirit. He cuts a dashing figure.

Captivating. Compelling. Hypnotic.

The sight leaves Octavius a little breathless. There’s a sensation of dropping in his stomach, and he forgets his sour mood.

His soul flares to life, a flicker of heat spreading up his spine.

He has to fight the sudden temptation to reach a palm through the grate and caress Jedediah’s face with infinite tenderness.

The drive is almost sweet. Almost. Until he is reminded they are only temporary confederates, fellow travelers. Allies — not friends. And of course, there is the _no touching_ rule. Octavius thinks it's a bloody stupid rule, but he adheres to it out of respect and dismisses the notion, quashing the instinct. He masters his expression, fingers digging painfully against the sharp, unclean rung of the grate.

"Up and over like me,” Jedediah instructs in a soft voice. “Hold on to the rope —" and he jerks his head at the ribbon — "then just slide down easy as ya please. Or you can always brace your feet against the wall and repel down a little at a time. Whichever way’s easier.”

Jedediah lifts his other leg over and pushes off, right side up.

The ribbon crackles, groaning in protest under his weight, but he gives Octavius a reassuring smile that’s a mile wide, teeth gleaming blue-gray in the semi-darkness.

The smile is so disarmingly friendly it weakens Octavius's resolve, making him unclench his hands.

In a controlled swing, Jedediah crooks his knees, and wraps his legs around the ribbon. He slides down, hand over hand.

Landing on the top of a bookshelf, he immediately drops down to one knee, brow furled. With a wide-eyed lupine pose, he slinks cautiously, scouting out his surroundings. Listening. At last, he straightens, turns, making three full circles for good measure.

Satisfied that the library is deserted except for them, he sidles over a few paces.

“Nada!” He beckons to Octavius. “Come on. It’s clear. Start makin’ your way down.”

Octavius arches a brow at the odd sensation pricking the edge of his awareness, a feeling he’s just been safeguarded.

Which is utter nonsense.

He cocks his head at this protective behavior, but otherwise, his face retains a mask of indifference even as he surveys the flimsy excuse for a rope, wondering how many mountains Jedediah must have climbed to make his descent look easy.

It is no matter.

Squaring his shoulders, pride reasserts itself. He makes a show of rolling his eyes.

“Amateur," he scoffs with a dismissive wave of the hand, making it an edict. "Mind your delicate sensibilities,” he calls out.

And the dear, sweet lamb obeys, turning his head.

Taken off guard, Octavius pauses. Both eyebrows shoot up and he blinks twice, at the sight of Jedediah with his back respectfully turned.

He is never going to stop being amazed by this. Never. No matter how often it happens or how long they may be trapped within the confines of these walls, in this in-between place, this — museum.

"Jedediah, really! I was being facetious.”

Jedediah does not budge, an immovable force. “I ain’t, kemosabe,” he counters. “It’s the decent and upstandin' thing ta’ be doin’.”

And there the accent thickens.

Octavius shouts, "Oh, for pity's sake! How were you Americans even conceived?”

“With a whole lotta love, time, and practice, baby!” Jedediah calls over his shoulder. “But I hear a stork may be involved with the delivery.”

Octavius’s face tightens, head tilting slightly. He furrows his brow, bewildered.

“Never mind. I retract the question. I don’t want to know!”

“Listen. If you don’t know how babies are made by now, amigo, I ain’t gonna be the one fillin’ ya in.”

“Daughter, Jedediah. Believe me. I am familiar." Octavius shakes his head. "You, I'm concerned about. I swear you are hopeless,” he huffs sarcastically. “Your entire culture...hopeless!”

“Yeah, but we sure do whup you boys often enough.”

“And now I see how! You have the unsportsmanlike advantage of an unhealthy buildup of raw aggression! What all of you need is a good, hard —”

Jedediah tenses at his words. He whirls around, face flushed pink, a bundle of suppressed, manic energy. Defiant eyes raise to greet him.

"You keep your dad-blame Roman orgies ta’ yourselves and leave my boys out of it. They’re rowdy enough as it is, thank you very much!"

And there is his flare of temper. Bless him. A papa bear protecting his young.

Octavius can see in the set of Jedediah’s shoulders the iron will that has kept the wiliest and woolliest under control. And while Octavius sees his army as his children, he wonders if Jedediah may view his own people in a similar light. Only, technically, they are more like his grandchildren.

And isn’t that bizarre? Displaced as he is, Jedediah is old enough to be their grandfather. Had he lived to truly work among them, he would be an elderly man in his sixties at the very least. An extremely well-preserved, lively sexagenarian who is protective, grouchy, and armed.

Well. Would have been armed. Thankfully, it's already been established that his guns don't fire. Otherwise, Octavius can well imagine Jedediah lounging on a porch somewhere out in the Old West, seated in a wooden chair with his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. A sentinel plucking up his shotgun from where it rests against the chair arm, placing it on his lap to clean. He would be unnaturally calm with a quiet look of intensity on his face while he casually questions the Roman army of their intentions toward his younguns.

Octavius approves.

He also knows he’ll pay for that almost-remark even while Jedediah gathers breath for the mother of all rants.

Worth it. To get Jedediah to forget himself long enough to turn around and look at him.

Octavius grins without guile. Well. Perhaps a little guile. Clasping the bars, his deep brown eyes gleam with mischief in perfect ease despite rousing Jedediah’s ire.

Clearly perplexed, Jedediah falters mid-rant and angles his head to one side. Curious. Still oblivious of what he’s done, he turns his head ever so slightly, studying Octavius out of the corner of his eye.

Octavius laughs. He is simply unable to hide his amusement. Nor can he vanquish the small smile of triumph as an impish notion seizes him and a plan formulates in his brain. Thus armed, he now knows how to defeat the Americans without ever laying a finger upon them. Even if he does intend for their battles to shift into play, his scheme is simply too rich not to employ at least once.

After regaining his composure, he decides a little mercy would go far in smoothing ruffled feathers.

Respectfully, he repeats, “Mind your sensibilities.”

“Do I look like your puppet?”

Octavius thinks about it. Nods. Stretching back languidly, he keeps his hands on the bars.

“Yes.”

“Hey!” Jedediah bounces a little, pitching his voice up sharply, indignant.

Octavius pokes his head out of the grate.

"Yes, dear?"

Hands now on his hips, Jedediah glares defiantly up and stomps his foot on the ground, giving a delayed reaction to Octavius's endearment.

“Don’t ‘ _yes dear’_ me, boy, or I'll slap you with a honey-do list so thick your descendants'll be stumbling back from it! I swear I will! First order of business. Discovering a way out of this dad-blame museum that don't involve us turning to dust at dawn. And then I'm hauling your hind end up to the top of Mount Everest."

"But what if I have no desire to travel to Mount Everest?"

"Hush, you.” Jedediah points. “You're going! And _dad-gum-it_!” He throws his head back, fists clenched, shouting up at the ceiling, “It’s been two thousand years, Octavius! It’s cold up there. You’re wearing pants!”

“Peace, Jedediah,” Octavius says in a low tone and lifts a hand to calm him.

“Don’t go ‘ _peace Jedediah'ing’_ me either.” Irate, he shakes his head, having none of it. He points again more sternly. “You don’t _own_ me.”

“I never said I did,” Octavius reasons. “Now mind your sensibilities. I’m coming down. I've given fair enough warning and I will not be blamed for any damage caused to your delicate, westernized sense of decorum should you refuse to take heed.”

Jedediah works his jaw, fuming. He doesn't answer for a long moment. And then he complies.

"God, you're bossy! Stop horsing around and get down here!"

He scuffs the sole of his boot on the top of the bookshelf.

“ _Who’s_ the bossy one?”

Jedediah flops his arms down at his sides. “Quit your sassin’ for, like, two seconds and get your butt down here pronto!”

“Right,” Octavius murmurs with a wry nod. He turns to the hellbeast, raising both his eyebrows. “I suppose the course of true love never did run smooth,” he says, still murmuring under his breath.

It is probably best for all involved that Jedediah is too worked up to notice he’s said anything.

The steed, on the other hand, lifts her head and whickers as though in agreement, his co-conspirator.

Octavius nods and rolls his eyes. “Hmm.”

With a sigh of acquiescence, Octavius swings his legs up and over the top of the grate.

With one final look at the hellbeast — who lifts her head, snaps her tail, and whinnies at his departure — Octavius ignores the flimsy ribbon and drops down beside Jedediah in a crouch, allowing his knees and ankles to absorb the impact, balancing his weight on one hand.

Eyes glinting, he looks up through his lashes, grinning broadly, all teeth.

At the loud thunk, Jedediah twists around, eyes wide and wild.

He stares at Octavius and then gapes up at the grate and then back down at Octavius.

After observing Octavius is uninjured and perfectly fine, Jedediah folds his arms over his chest. His mouth thins into an irritated line, but he says nothing about the unspoken challenge.

Somehow, his squinting blue eyes manage to sparkle and dance even though the rest of his face remains stern and uncompromising. And then at last, he lifts his chin slightly, expression breaking into a partial grin, humor flickering around his mouth.

“So I reckon there’s another way down,” he finally offers dryly. “I suppose, if you're a feisty, contrary ol' son-of-a-gun, you can plop yourself down like some great, big, giant, hairy mountain goat.”

Octavius lifts an eyebrow. He casts about his mind for a suitable response, thinking up a snarky comeback. He promptly forgets it, too distracted by the good humor dancing in and around Jedediah’s eyes. His heartbeat quickens, challenge giving way to a foolish grin.

“Thank you.”

He offers a slight, mocking bow before popping up. Pulling his arms behind his back, he appears nothing less than regal. Still grinning, he loses the imperious posture almost immediately, rocking in place.

Jedediah ducks his head, huffing out a surprised breath, and grins back just as foolishly. His eyes shine with a mixture of wistfulness and warmth.

“That ain’t a compliment. Your way lacks—” he waves a hand in admonishment, voice casual, but there’s no real reproach in it — “a certain finesse."

A bubble of joy lodges in Octavius’s breast. He flashes a smile, dark eyes gleaming.

Whatever Jedediah sees shuts him up. He smiles back.

When they hold each other's gaze a little too long, Jedediah's dazzling grin fades. He averts his eyes and clears his throat. When he glances back, his expression is affable, albeit distant. Cautious. Reserved.

He ambles a few paces away, thoughtful. And then he looks back at Octavius and clicks his teeth. He saunters back with a sigh.

“You still got dirt all over your face, ya goofball,” he says quietly.

Surveying the smudge, he unties his neckerchief and snaps it a couple of times to remove the wrinkles. He reaches over to gallantly wipe the grime away. And then he halts. His soft smile vanishes a second time, replaced by uncertainty.

He presents the neckerchief to Octavius so that he can do it himself.

"Here."

Octavius takes it gratefully and rubs at his face.

The material is warm and smells...

Well, it smells wonderful, actually. Clean and delightfully masculine.

It is his turn to halt his course, and he immediately thrusts the neckerchief back as though it were poison.

Keeping his actions above board, he is mindful to refrain from accidentally brushing hands or stare at the enticing column of exposed throat.

"All good?" He swivels his head back and forth, lifting his chin.

Jedediah ducks his chin to check, eyes roving. He clears his throat before answering. "I—yeah. You look good."

Octavius thanks him quietly, his eyes filled with gratitude.

Jedediah shrugs, fiddling with his neckerchief, manner nonchalant. He turns away, tying it back in place.

Octavius looks around in the awkward silence for something he can shift his focus to. He glances up and waves a hand toward the grate, arching a brow.

“Lucky for you, the ribbon was there,” he observes.

Still adjusting his neckerchief the way he wants it, Jedediah squints up and then looks over toward him.

“Whataya talkin’ about?” he asks, nodding at the ribbon. “I tied it up there.”

Octavius gapes, eyeing the completely vertical climb. It is devoid of necessary handholds.

"Sweet Jupiter,” he murmurs, awestruck, catching Jedediah’s gaze. “What _are_ you? Half spider?"

Jedediah watches him with knowing eyes that seem to see too much. With an enigmatic smile, he saunters off. 

* * *

_Later…  
_

Soon they settle into a routine of sorts. Jedediah sets to work instructing Octavius on how to free a desired book from the shelves. He demonstrates by bracing his back against a book and pushing against the wall with his knees.

Sometimes a tome is so heavy that it requires both of them to dislodge it.

The pair make short work of the task; they create quite the pile as tome after tome litters the floor for which Jedediah is entirely unapologetic.

"They're beginning to suspect the library’s haunted," Jedediah supplies, close to Octavius's ear. "Been chalking up all the mess each morning to the work of a poltergeist."

Octavius had been staring up at a book entitled _The Art of War._ At the unfamiliar term, he uncrosses his arms, turns around, lifts a finger, and asks, "What's a poltergeist?"

"It's German," Jedediah supplies readily. "For noisy spirit."

Octavius blinks. There’s a two second delay as the translation sinks in. And then he laughs.

Giddy with a bizarre sense of the absurd, he clutches his armor plated torso. He laughs so hard, he almost falls backward onto his rump. For what is Jedediah if not a noisy spirit?

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."

Octavius inclines his head. "I shall."

Jedediah's oh-so-obvious embarrassment only makes Octavius laugh harder, he claps his hands with amusement.

Jedediah blinks, colors, and squints. "It ain't _that_ funny."

"Oh, yes it is!"

“Come on!" Jedediah rolls his head. "So they nailed it. Big deal!”

A long moment stretches. And then another. And there is still no end to Octavius’s laughter. He finds it difficult to catch his breath.

"N-n-noisy spirit!"

The revelation might not be all that funny, or it’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard. His reaction may simply be long-delayed hysteria. He isn’t certain. It could be caused by any number of accumulated absurdities he's been forced to muddle through with near superhuman stoicism ever since awakening and finding himself trapped in this place. All he knows is that, for better or worse, he is being fundamentally changed by the experience.

And he cannot stop laughing.

He blots tears from his eyes, doubles over, stumbles backward. Involuntarily, the force of his laughter causes him to snort.

Jedediah's eyebrows shoot up. He mouths a silent _whoa._

Octavius covers his mouth with a shaking palm, and breaks into a renewed fit of laughter.

“Okay. _Somebody’s_ got the giggles…”

Bemused, Jedediah crosses his arms, taps his foot, apparently willing to wait Octavius out.

Octavius recovers, slowing his breathing and forcibly calming himself. "I'm alright, I'm alright." He tries to smile reassuringly, but laughter bubbles in his throat and he chokes, cracking up again.

Jedediah closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, shaking his head.

When it becomes apparent the laughter isn't subsiding, Jedediah throws up his hands.

Perturbed, he hooks his fingers around the collar of Octavius’s armor and yanks, snapping Octavius's neck back, and pulling Octavius along after him. He turns his head.

“I swear I can’t take you anywhere...”

Octavius squawks. "Hang on. Hang on a minute! I thought you said _no touching_! That was the rule."

"It’s more of a guideline, actually. And, technically, I ain’t touchin’ ya. So come on. Walk it off."

Octavius holds a palm to his now aching head. His chest hurts from laughing so hard, but he’s still snickering softly.

He's heard of being led around by the skirt tails before, has even been accused of it a time or two, but this is ridiculous.

* * *

_Later..._

A few times they share a book that piques their interest, but mostly their tastes lie at opposite ends of the library.

Jedediah subtly shifts Octavius’s focus away from books about a Roman named Caligula. _  
_

“Little Boots,” Octavius translates, staring up at several volumes. The Roman looks like him in his youth, an obvious relation. _  
_

The diversions aren't as subtle after the fifth time it occurs. No matter what he does, Jedediah won't let him anywhere near the books. His curiosity is piqued, but he tamps it down. Romans do not compromise, nor do they negotiate. Nevertheless, he is compelled by a near-desperate force to come to...an arrangement with Jedediah.

He will remain blissfully ignorant of Caligula, if Jedediah will do likewise and refrain from upending books about Octavius.

Jedediah shoots him an odd look, as though trying to read his expression and failing.

“Please, don't," Octavius says, with something very much akin to shame in his voice. "You may ask me anything. Ask me anything you wish and I will answer honestly." He gives Jedediah a beseeching look. "I would simply rather you get your information from me rather than from secondhand sources. Especially when it is uncertain as to the author's motivations." _  
_

It is with a sense of dread that he makes this oath, with the entire wall of books looming over him like the foreshadowing of impending doom — each one with some variation of his name written along their spines — spelling out his ruin.

If Octavius had his way he would watch these tomes burn, fearing what may be lurking within their depths.

Octavius has sense enough to know that he was a great man, but not necessarily a good one.

He is different now. Kinder. Gentler. Less inclined toward ruthlessness and ambition.

He has no wish to be remembered. None at all.

"I ripped out my teeny, tiny blurb that first night," Jedediah confides. In this action, he is also entirely unapologetic.

Octavius closes his eyes.

"You think I don't understand?” Jedediah asks, bumping his shoulder to get his attention. “I'd rather be some generic, nameless cowboy than claim the pack of lies written about me. I get it. I really do. You have nothing to worry about. I won’t read anything about you that you don't want me to."

Octavius frowns and turns his head at the improved speech pattern.

Jedediah cranes his neck, watching him, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He winks.

Breathing an intense sigh of relief, Octavius inclines his head. “You have my sincerest gratitude.”

Overcome, Octavius lifts a hand.

Jedediah ducks out of the way before he can be touched. “Don’t go all mushy on me.”

A little while later, Jedediah falls silent, thoughtful.

"Ya know. About Jedediah Strong Smith. His remains were never found," he states with a sudden, eerie hush. He stares off into a past only he can see. "They say his bones were picked apart by scavengers. Scattered to the wind. They blew away. Nature-boy got his wish. Became part of the landscape he so adored. It's the best possible legacy for him." Jedediah lifts his eyes, expression one of finality. "Let's let him keep it."

It is an edict.

Octavius nods.

The Americans are ignorant of _Jed's_ full name and Octavius will never tell.

* * *

_Later..._

Octavius learns many things. The most alarming being that in every possible way, Jedediah and he should be mortal enemies.

Romans versus the early Christians.

The British versus the colonists.

And yet Octavius cannot find it in his heart to despise Jedediah. These grievances he’s read about are not his. Nor are they Jedediah's. Although, by rights, perhaps they should be.

Octavius turns his head.

Jedediah has his head pillowed on one arm, nose buried in a book. As though feeling the gaze on him, he glances up and casts a grin his way. Octavius offers a constrained smile.

Despite the pull that seems to lead toward the inevitable, it is Octavius's fervent desire that enemies remain allies a little while longer. _  
_

* * *

_Later…  
_

They come together again like partners in a dance. Side by side, they amble along the rows of books, hands behind their backs.

Jedediah stretches out an arm, his gloved hand sliding across book after book. His tone softens with quiet reverence. “I could talk your ear off about everyone I’ve read about.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Octavius smiles to soften the harshness of the agreement, staring up at the tomes they pass.

Some catch his eye. _  
_

_Amelia Earhart. Attila the Hun. The Dyatlov Pass Incident._ _Napoleon. World War I. Al Capone._

Others he has more than a passing familiarity with. _  
_

_The Donner Party. The Lewis and Clark Expedition. Sacajawea. Theodore Roosevelt. The Neanderthals._

Jedediah grins back. A thoughtful silence pervades the air, and then he points to a book.

“Calamity Jane. How do ya think she got her name?”

Octavius shrugs. “Either a klutz or cursed with extraordinary bad luck. Beset by calamity. Where she went, trouble followed."

Jedediah shakes his head, smiling the brightest, maddest smile Octavius has ever seen.

“She was an expert rider, a fighter, nurse, cook, camp follower, waitress — you name it. Backed down several men twice her size in brawls. Always ready to lend a hand when somebody was sick or injured. But the birth of the name happened in Goose Creek, Wyoming. Ambush. She rode back through a firefight to save a soldier after he got shot. Then she hefted him onto her saddle all by her lonesome and rode him to safety. The man, one Captain Egan, christened her _Calamity Jane, the Heroine of the Plains._ The name stuck.”

“Did this happen before or after your time?”

Jedediah waves his hand. “Oh, after me by about twenty years or so.”

He moves on and points at another much smaller book.

“Nat Love, nicknamed Deadwood Dick. Of African descent. Former slave. Waltzed into the Dakota Territories where they were holding a rodeo in town. Entered every contest. Rope, throw, tie, bridle, saddle, and bronco riding — he won them all." He waves a hand. "And then he just rides off into the sunset with his winnings, happy as you please. Disappears largely from history after that. They wrote some dime store novels about him. Tall tales, really. That’s why the book’s so small. Because he's so mysterious.”

Jedediah brushes past Octavius, moving down the line. He points.

“One-Eyed Charley. Tough, taciturn, ornery, hard-drinkin’ tobacco-chewin’, bandit-shootin’, card-and-dice-playin’, cigar-smokin’, cursin'-up-a-blue-streak Charley. Hell on wheels. And I do mean literally. Best stagecoach driver on the West Coast and one of the safest. Even over treacherous terrain. Charley fended off wild animals, bandits —” Jedediah shrugs — “you name it and it probably attacked the coach. Once shot Black Bart in the hind end when he tried to rob Ol’ Charley on one of his runs. Busted in his sides after rolling an empty stagecoach, but fended off all his rescuers. They couldn't make him see a doctor, and boy did they try. Tough as nails and twice a sharp. But also loyal and kind-hearted. Once bought his widowed neighbor’s farm when she fell on hard times and the bank got greedy. Signed the deed back over to her without demanding anything.”

Jedediah turns, lifts a gloved finger to his lips.

“Shhh. None of my boys are ta’ know. Ain’t any of their business. But good Ol’ Charley was born Charlotte Darkey Parkhurst in Lebanon, New Hampshire. He identifies as male. One of my boys.” Jedediah pats the book proudly and with affection.

Octavius leans against a book and folds his arms against his chest, gazing at Jedediah with fixed attention.

When Jedediah turns back to name off another member of his diorama, Octavius is still watching him.

“What?” Jedediah finally asks, distracted.

Octavius smiles warmly, politely, and shakes his head. He feels a surge of pride, mixed with a strong fondness. Truth of the matter is Jedediah’s easy acceptance warms him. It is a rare quality in any age.

“It is nothing. Never mind.”

Jedediah colors faintly, blinks, and ambles on. He clears his throat and doesn’t press.

Octavius pushes off from the book and follows him. Jedediah’s enthusiasm and delight with sharing his stories is infectious. He tilts his head and randomly extends a finger toward another book. “This one?”

Jedediah glances up and then shifts his attention back to Octavius.

“Hugh Glass?”

Octavius nods.

“Now that one —” and Jedediah points his finger, walking backward — “that one didn’t come with us.” He hunkers down, sagging against a book. “You won’t be findin’ him here in the Old West, but he’s one ya woulda liked. Probably would’ve gotten along with him much better.”

Octavius angles his head to the side, a silent question.

Jedediah nods.

“He was a legend in his own time. And mine. Fur trader and mountain man. Old and grizzled by the time I knew him, though. Made famous for his rugged individualism on the campfire circuit. And the Rendezvous —”

Holding up his hand, Octavius asks. “I'm sorry. The Rendezvous?”

Jedediah shifts his eyes over to Octavius, patient with him despite interrupting the mystique he’s building.

“A swap meet of sorts up in the mountains where we all met up once a year. Just something to do I suppose. An annual gathering, a celebration. All the mountain men, fur traders, and their families gathered together to trade, sing, dance, race, whoop it up, target-shoot, throw knives, fight —”

Octavius arches an eyebrow.

“All in good fun,” Jedediah assures. “They also used the time to spin yarns about their exploits.”

“And you didn’t participate,” Octavius adds, already knowing the answer.

Jedediah shrugs. “Well, in the knife and hatchet-throwing I did…”

Octavius arches the other brow.

“Didn’t share my stories if that’s what you’re really after. You know I wasn’t one for talking.” Jedediah pauses, thinks about it. “Also didn’t think it proper to go around talkin’ myself up.”

Octavius’s arms fall to his sides. “Oh, Jedediah...” he admonishes, feeling a twist in his heart. No wonder he was forgotten.

“I know, I know.”

“You needed a mouthpiece,” Octavius mutters in tones of exasperation, thinking of himself for the job. The gods know he has no trouble boasting.

“Well, I don’t need one now!” Jedediah says.

Octavius slants his eyes sideways. The gods know that’s true enough as well.

Jedediah flashes a conciliatory grin. “Got into some good-natured brawling, though.” He brings his hands up in a fighting stance and ducks his head from side to side as though dodging out of the way of punches.

Exasperated, Octavius rolls his eyes at the lunatic.

“Of course you did.”

Jedediah shakes his head. “Anyway, back to my story. Glass was an Irishman. He was captured and later adopted by the Pawnee. Started his career off as a Caribbean sailor-turned-pirate.”

Hands on his hips, Jedediah smiles at him and then turns back to the book.

“Escaped that life to travel west. Feisty. Like you. Got attacked by a bear, like me. Lots of parallels with my life. Only much worse. Bear shredded him up terrible. He even watched the bear feed on part of his thigh right in front of him.”

Jedediah shudders. His gaze grows distant and unfocused, returning to an earlier time in his memory. He swallows and ducks his chin.

“Old Ephraim is what we called the grizzlies. Male or female. Didn’t matter, but in nature, the females are always the meanest. Deadlier than the males. His men found her on top of him, bleeding out. As torn up as he was, he’d defended himself and won. Tougher than a pine knot, that one.”

Octavius grimaces.

Jedediah continues with his tale, his tone hushed. Reverent.

“His party was in a hurry to move on to Yellowstone. They all thought Glass was beyond saving. They left — all but two of 'em. They just. Left him. The two that stayed were tasked with keeping him comfortable until he passed. Even began digging the grave, he was so bad. But after three days Glass was still kickin’. They left him, too. Dumped him into the grave they dug and threw a bearskin on top of him. Buried him alive.

“Glass woke up. Figured out what happened. Half-scalped and with his wounds festerin’, he crawled along the trail with a broken leg, and exposed muscles and bones. All he had was the stubborn will to survive and revenge just stewin’ in his belly, angry as a bobcat. But when he caught up to the two who buried him. Well. The one he forgave ‘cause he was just a kid who didn't know no better. But the other one —”

Jedediah shrugs. “The man caught wind Glass was comin’ after him so he up and joined the military because killin’ a military man was a hangin’ offense. Glass arrived in a blizzard, cooking up his own brand of vengeance omelet. Instead of killing him, he gave the fellow the what-for, probably the worst dressing down of his life, and then turned on his heel and left the way he come, frozen beard and all. Scared the bejeezus out of the man, I can tell you. Turned a pasty shade of pearly gray, back pressed against the wall. And then Glass just stepped back out into the wilderness. The best revenge, I suppose. Living.”

Jedediah goes quiet, and then he laughs. His voice exudes a strange fondness. “Reminds me a little of you, actually. I can picture you doing something like that. That would’ve been a sight.”

Octavius’s mouth thins and he glances off into the distance. Squaring his shoulders, he gives careful consideration before speaking.

“It is an entertaining tale, to be sure. But I confess I don’t have much use for pirates.”

His voice draws Jedediah's gaze.

“It was involuntary,” Jedediah explains. “He was captured and forced into it.”

Octavius shrugs.

Jedediah tilts his head, confused.

Octavius sighs a sigh that is a combination of exasperation and tolerant amusement. His gaze drifts toward the book and then back on Jedediah, making eye contact. He moves to stand close enough to feel the other man breathe, staring evenly.

“You claimed I would have preferred Glass’s company over yours. I find the measure of a leader can be discerned by the actions of his men. Glass’s compatriots left him to die. When you were attacked, your people stayed with you. Given the choice between you and Hugh Glass, I would not have chosen _him_.”

Octavius lets the words sink in, and then quietly withdraws.

Jedediah swivels his head to follow his retreat. At first he frowns, looking dubious.

Octavius smiles solemnly.

Expression going entirely blank, Jedediah doesn’t reply, but then his eyes twinkle at the compliment. Happy. There is a glitter of starlight in his gaze. He leans his head against the book, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankles.

Their eyes meet and hold.

Octavius cannot for the life of him fathom how anyone would not fall over themselves to be the recipient of such a focus.

As it is, the depth of that look has Octavius's heart stuttering and a thrill spreading through his veins. It is nothing like the cocky, self-assured, simple-mindedness Octavius imagined he'd seen the first night they encountered each other.

Something flickers behind Jedediah’s eyes and he jerks back, shying away. The familiar distance spreads a little further between them.

It is no matter. Octavius made his point. His heartbeat settles.

Suddenly he feels the flesh at the back of his neck prickle, a cold shiver of fear slithering its way down his spine. Fast footfalls click rapidly on the floor, heading in their direction.

He turns to find Jedediah looking at him with quiet intensity, appearing both apprehensive and anticipatory at the same time.

Their focus is drawn to a zigzagging, frantic beam of light under the door.

Octavius's ears catch more than one human voice, though no actual words. Two distinct languages mixing together. One frightened and defensive, the other harsher. The voices are faint, but growing in intensity.

Jedediah drifts toward the sounds, tilting his head as though trying to decipher what is being shouted. Grimly unholstering his weapons, he stands with both his guns in tight fists. Force of habit. They bob up and down in his hands, visual evidence that he itches to use them properly.

"Jedediah." Octavius's voice comes out in a harsh whisper. He reflexively seizes Jedediah's wrist, drawing him close. Muscles bunch under his fingertips, but the touch is permitted unchecked. “You can’t make those work.”

They jump back as something large slams its weight against the door, trying to push its way in. The knob rattles, but the lock remains securely engaged.

“I’m doing it anyway, hoss. Ain’t the _giving up_ kind. They'll work this time. ‘Sides. I just want to frighten off whoever it is. Not shoot ‘em.”

“Put the guns away, Jedediah.”

A muscle jumps in Jedediah’s jaw, his eyes hard. He pulls back both hammers. “No.”

“Jedediah,” Octavius commands. Although he knows Jedediah can look after himself perfectly well with or without his guns, Octavius doesn’t want to see him disappointed. He places a hand against Jedediah’s chest. “Put them away.”

Jedediah’s face twists in doubt. He takes a breath, turning his forlorn gaze to Octavius. He lets out a defeated shuddering breath and relaxes.

“Alright.”

With a sigh, he holsters his weapons and steps back.

There is the sound of jingling keys.

They jump when the keys strike the floor with a sharp clatter on the other side of the door, and then there’s the jingling again followed by a soft _click-and-slide_ as the lock is disengaged.

They stand frozen a moment too long.

The doorknob turns.

Jedediah's eyes lock with Octavius.

"Run."

The door explodes open as they scramble for cover.


	12. Get Along Little Doggies, Part Seven

The library fills with rushing wind, sending out concussive shockwaves. The blast knocks Octavius and Jedediah off their feet and onto the floor. They fall flat.

Jedediah’s hat is jarred from its perch by the force of the explosion. It covers his eyes. Blindly groping, he reaches to tip the Stetson back into place, head wagging.

Without thinking, Octavius bounces up. His hand shoots out and he grips his companion by the arm, wrapping his other arm securely around Jedediah’s torso, holding on tight, fearful of separation in the wake of chaos and the unknown.

He hustles them forth so as to not lose precious time making their escape.

Octavius stumbles through the half-light, losing his footing. Disoriented, he trips over one of the books they’ve left scattered and overcompensates.

Carried forward by their combined momentum, they fall, crashing to their knees.

Jedediah lets out a pained grunt, stunned by the sudden impact that is hard enough to knock the breath from him, but he doesn’t cry out.

“Keep moving,” Octavius instructs in a hushed whisper.

Jedediah nods once in understanding, remaining silent.

Crawling commando-style, Octavius guides Jedediah up, over, and around the fallen tomes.

They take shelter in the darkness, underneath the nearest bookcase, pressed tight together.

Octavius peers cautiously out from under their hiding place, tilting his head up sharply.

Catching swift movement out of the corner of his eye, he swivels his head.

Jedediah finally has a chance to tip his Stetson back where it belongs, but it appears a much more difficult task than it should be. He strains.

The hat pops off with an actual, audible _popping_ sound _,_ as though it had somehow forgotten it was made from soft canvas and had switched properties to become some unknown, hardened, glossy material instead, wanting to fuse down over Jedediah’s eyes.

Octavius watches Jedediah flip the hat over and over between his hands, staring in confusion. He arches an eyebrow.

Jedediah lifts a shoulder, shaking his head at the unspoken question. There is a reddened mark on his forehead where the Stetson tried to meld to his skin.

The hat loses its sheen and becomes canvas again.

Octavius raises his hand in alarm when Jedediah puts it back on. “No. Don’t!”

He slowly lowers his arm when the Stetson remains as it always has been. Canvas.

Their stupefied gaze holds for as long as either of them dares to spare — the fleetest of glances — and then they peer cautiously out together toward the source of the chaos.

On all fours, they look up, up, and _up_.

A giant in a nightwatchman’s uniform now shares the room, having flung himself through the door at an intense speed. His white hair seems to glow, backlit from the light outside of the library.

The footwear skids on the smooth flooring as he fights to remain upright and keep his feet under him. He jams his shoulder against the door, slamming it shut.

He fumbles twice with the lock. It is jerkily reengaged just as his pursuer, horrifyingly close behind, crashes against the door on the other side with incredible force, rattling its frame.

The giant had taken a second to sag in relief, but he instinctively whirls, pushing away, lurching backward.

The guard shakes his head. He’s breathing in sharp, whistling gasps in between laughing mirthlessly. He stands on the thin ledge of hysteria, shaken, but unharmed.

Octavius marvels at the man’s large, whiter-than-white teeth. He thinks the guard has a face made for smiling and good cheer. He is also rather spry for an older man.

“Oh, boy,” the giant murmurs. Bending at the waist, he places his hands on knees that, remarkably, do not creak with age. “Phew!”

Octavius’s senses are contradictory in regards to the guard and he wonders if the agelessness of the man means he is part of an exhibit like them. His hand rests on his sword hilt, wary.

He cranes his neck up further still and gapes in awe, momentarily distracted by the flecks of dust shimmering down over the giant with each pound at the door.

The guard shouts.

“Hun!” The white-haired giant says, voice coaxing. “At-til-la. At-til-la,” the giant sing-songs with a vague and otherworldly air, tracing the parallel lines along the door frame. He palms the door. “Attila, behave!”

Beside him, Jedediah stiffens and gasps. In his alarm, he rises up on his elbows and promptly brains himself on the underside of the bookshelf with a sharp thump.

“Dad-gum-it!” he whispers-shouts, making certain his tone is pitched low enough that the sound doesn’t carry. He heaves on his side in obvious pain and glares up at the bookcase in accusation. Hissing, he rubs at the back of his skull through his Stetson.

Octavius lifts a hand to assist.

Jedediah kicks him in the thigh. Well. More like knees him in the thigh, they are lying too close together to allow for a really good kick.

“I am a tactile person, Jedediah,” Octavius whispers, kicking him back. Twice. “Cease this ridiculousness and take it like a man!”

Jedediah blusters. He opens his mouth, appearing like he wants to argue the point that they still aren't married and he doesn't have to take anything, but snaps his mouth shut. Coloring, he huffs out a long breath, looking disgruntled. He turns his head away, choosing to stare in the opposite direction, but he stills.

Satisfied, Octavius takes the complacency as a win. And what he’s said is true. He is an exceedingly tactile person. It is high time Jedediah acknowledge this about him and move on.

Octavius flicks his eyes back to the guard.

The giant has deepened his voice with authority and —

_Condescension?_

Octavius tilts his head. The guard’s approach is reminiscent of many self-important advisors he’s known throughout his youth. Those men only wanting “the best” for Rome and its citizens all the while profiting from their positions, lining their own pockets. His opinion of such men is not charitable. And he thinks the playful goading is a strategically unwise maneuver under the circumstances. It will only incense the man’s pursuer further.

The behavior momentarily disconnects him from the giant and his plight. He ignores the guard in favor of turning back to Jedediah who is palming the crown of his Stetson in agitation, visibly nervous.

Octavius gazes at him blankly. He waits in expectation. When no explanation is forthcoming, he asks, “What’s an _Attila_?”

Jedediah’s eyes flick to him. A small tilt of his head. “ _Attila_ ain’t a _what_ , he’s a _who_. And he’s a psychotic, brutal warlord.”

If that's true — and he has no reason to doubt Jedediah's word— than goading this Attila is extremely unwise. Swift, definitive action should be taken.

It suddenly registers that the room has grown silent around them.

Heart pounding, Octavius grips the hilt of his weapon tightly and turns his attention back to the guard who is cautiously approaching the locked entrance.

The giant presses his ear up against the door.

“You still there?”

The giant scuttles sideways when _Attila_ crashes against the door with terrific force. There’s muffled cursing from the other side.

The loud pounding resumes.

“Well.” The guard dashes a hand across his face, gazing around with a trapped look. His skin is so pale it almost glows. “You boys are lively tonight, aren’t you? If you don’t stop sneaking up on me like this, I’m getting a cowbell for all of you!”

Octavius bounces his forehead off the floor in frustration.

 _No_ , _no_ , _no_.

This is wrong. All wrong.

Attila does not seem interested in listening. Or perhaps he does not understand a language that is obviously foreign to him.

Or —

Perhaps he does.

The pounding grows fiercer at the mention of the word _cowbell_.

Beside him, Jedediah is still palming the crown of his Stetson. He’s closed his eyes, flinching silently with each concussive crash against the door.

Octavius blinks. This isn’t typical Jedediah behavior at all.

He extends an arm, intending to pull his companion closer and offer comfort. Thinks better of it and drops his hand.

“That was over the line, son. I admit it. Bad idea!” the guard shouts. “But you can threaten me all you want. Your old buddy Cecil is still not letting you roam loose outside! So you can just forget it!”

Perhaps first impressions were wrong and Cecil is simply inept at handling warlords. It is an acquired skill.

Octavius mouths the names, placing them to memory. _Attila. Cecil_.

The doorknob rattles, jiggling metallically from side to side.

“Listen,” Cecil reasons. “Gus is the one threatening to lock you all up if you don’t start behaving.” He jerks his thumb. “Why don’t you go and harass _him_ for a change?”

Attila slams against the door again.

“Nice, firm follow-through. Tells me a lot about a man.” Cecil encourages, backing up. He glances around, finds a chair, and props it against the door. “I like that!”

Hinges creak and groan, followed by a loud splintering, cracking sound.

Cecil sucks air through his teeth.

“But not _that_ much,” he mutters, hands pulling at his hair. “Oh, boy...”

His hands fumble along the wall.

A soft _click_ and then overhead lights flicker to life.

Octavius shields his face from the sudden brightness with his hand. Squeezing his eyes shut, he is momentarily blinded. He blinks, trying to see past the afterimage floating in front of him, playing peek-a-boo with his vision.

He spares another quick glance at Jedediah. For a split-second, his companion’s hair flashes brown and then purple. Octavius blinks away the dots.

They stare at one another desperately for a moment. In unspoken agreement, they slip deeper back into shadow.

Octavius forgets propriety and reaches out, clutching Jedediah’s wrist.

Jedediah glances down at the hand with a strained expression. He bites the inside of his cheek, turning stricken eyes toward Octavius.

“Tell me,” Octavius says, knowing there is more to the story and expecting Jedediah to have the answers.

“ _Attila, King of the Huns_ ,” Jedediah supplies in a toneless whisper, and leans closer. “Known for his cruelty and mercilessness. Terror of the world. He called himself _flagellum Dei_ , the Scourge of God.” He pauses, uncertain. Swallowing hard, he waits to capture Octavius's full attention.

It is unnecessary. He already has it.

Jedediah points angrily.

“Keep away from him, Octavius. Steer clear. Whatever happens in the next few minutes. Don’t challenge him. Don’t engage him. Don’t even look at him funny, ya hear?”

“Why?”

Jedediah stabs his hand in the direction of the scene playing out before them.

“Because he’s a billion times bigger than you!” he explodes, suddenly in a rage. “Because he hates everybody. Because he’s full-on _loco_. Because out of all the folk he hates — and there’s a list — Romans are _numero uno_. If he knew you boys even existed in this here museum, he wouldn’t stop hunting you down until you were all dead and he’s ripped ya ta’ pieces. All of you. It’s kind of his thing.”

“But…” Octavius breathes. He shakes his head. “Why?”

Jedediah loses his anger for a moment and gives him a wide-eyed, incredulous look.

“After all your invading, do you even have to ask?”

“I admit to having my fair share of enemies,” Octavius confesses. “More than my fair share, in fact. However, this is a rather extreme reaction. You are speaking to me of the genocide of my people!”

He’s never heard of the man. There is no recognition at the mention of the name. He’s doubtful he’s even crossed swords with the man’s grandfather.

Lifting his hand, palm up, he is completely innocent for once. Naturally alarmed and defensive, he adds in a high-pitched whisper, “He’s never even met me!”

Jedediah casts a sideways glance at the irony of Octavius’s statement. His eyebrows raise. They disappear under his hat. He gnaws at his bottom lip, and then leans forward until their faces are mere inches apart. His normally gentle voice sharpens even more.

“Well, then get ready ta’ saddle up, hoss, and face some harsh realities. Your boys obviously did _something_ after you up and gone to that great big, honkin’, giant Coliseum in the sky ‘cause he’s sure as _hell_ knows who Romans are, toga boy! And I don’t know what they gone and done ta’ get him so riled, but I can guess. And I can _guarantee_ it ain’t made up of puppy dogs and stardust.

“I’m telling ya. He won’t care whatcha did or didn’t do _._ You're Roman. That’s all that’s goin’ to matter. Me?” he shrugs, shakes his head, indifferent. “Well. If I got discovered here, he’d probably just step on me. It’d be done. Over. _Finito_.” He jabs his gloved finger against Octavius’s armor-plated chest. “But with _you_ he’d make it _hurt_.”

The floorboard beneath them creaks and they look up sharply.

Octavius’s gaze darts back to stare at the guard’s leather footwear, considering. His mouth thins into a tight, determined line. He knows how to deal with warlords. And Jedediah can be prone to over exaggeration at times. Perhaps he can be of use.

“Would this Attila person truly harm the guard or is he simply using intimidation and scare tactics to kowtow him?”

“Hey!” Jedediah bolts upright, missing the underside of the bookshelf. Fast and tight, he grips Octavius’s wrist, as though reading his mind. “Look at me.”

Octavius drags his eyes over.

Jedediah stares at him, wild and intense.

“I mean it, Octavius,” he warns, voice low and commanding. “Stay away from him.”

The show of concern is warming. Octavius is poised to lift his chin and regally announce his appreciation — when it registers.

This isn’t anger he’s witnessing, but anguish.

Jedediah’s face is drawn, drained of color. His eyes are wide, round, and deeply-socketed. He is sick with fear and worry, but not for himself.

Octavius glances down to where Jedediah continues grasping his arm in a fierce, desperate grip.

“‘Tavius.” Jedediah’s voice is rough. Hard-won defenses are stripping away. “I couldn’t stand ta’ see ya hurt...”

Octavius freezes. His scalp prickles at the sensation, experiencing a surge of energy dance across his skin, ricochet, and then tingle its way up his spine. It feels a little like magic.

He lifts his eyes.

This isn’t simply polite concern. Nor is it one traveling companion looking out for the welfare of the other.

His breath catches, and then comes out in a rush.

Filled with wonder, his mind races.

All the mixed signals. The focused attention, followed by the sudden retreat.

Perhaps the old Jedediah, with all his quietness, isn’t quite so gone as he’d like Octavius to believe.

His gaze fastens on Jedediah's face, deliberately tracing every line of worry. _For him._

Stubbornness wrestles with wonder as puzzle pieces fit, rapidly clicking into place.

 _Amigo and mon ami —_ two words with Latin origins.

_Friend._

Octavius hasn’t been imagining it. His face softens. It is all he can do to prevent his chin from quivering. Eyes glittering, he quickly gets control over himself, blinking back the prickling sensation at the back of his throat.

_I reckon I like aggravatin’ you. You okay there, hoss? Are you alright? Admit it. I’m funny. Get ta’ know me. I bet you were a good dad. I like it when you smile. I like it when you laugh. Well, come on, then. I got something to show you. Some are tricky. Poisonous. But I'd’ve steered ya proper. Hush you, you’re going! It’s cold up there. You’re wearing pants!_

Jedediah dips his head a little, closes his eyes, and then glances up. The terror from the moment before is completely gone. Erased. Vanished and smoothed over. It is as though it never was. Stubborn. Because he did not just reveal himself — did not.

His gaze travels past Octavius. He stares at nothing, refusing to give away the train of his thoughts. Nevertheless, his eyes are the purest blue Octavius has ever seen. They betray him. Because they are glossy.

They shine.

_Gratitude. Surprise. Curiosity. Suspicion. Uncertainty._

Wanting. Retreating. Hiding.

Crouching and skittish.

Protecting himself because for all his talk about there being no shame in kindness, Jedediah isn’t accustomed to being its recipient.

_They’re always invading._

A singular, uncommonly good-hearted and gentle person with hard, hard eyes.

Shut down. Stunted.

_When I get back, most of my boys are bleached bones!_

Blamed. Shamed.

_If this is friendship, I don’t want it._

Jedediah’s aversion to touch.

Shouting. Hooting. Splashing.

Underwater. Drowning. Many hands forcing him down.

_No touching!_

Floating. Sinking. Settling deep.

It is high time someone lifted him from the abyss.

Octavius’s gaze softens. He does not trust himself to speak. So he raises his hand and gently touches the side of Jedediah’s face.

The effect is instantaneous.

Jedediah squawks in alarm and jerks himself backward at the contact. He is so startled that he narrowly avoids braining himself against the bookcase again. His eyes bulge from their sockets.

Gestures of affection unsettle him. He neither seeks them out nor are they expected.

Horrible scarring. Eyes cast down.

No touching.

Because others have not been kind.

An affluent family escaping scandal and financial ruin flee to make a fresh start.

Don't talk. Don't speak. Keep your head down. Else word will spread. No one must know where you came from.

_Don’t tell anyone._

Bookish and silent except for the conversations he has with his steed, and with one solitary, rescued wolf that rests by his side for company, he reads passages from a journal by the light of a crackling fire.

_Jedediah teaches, lectures, and informs. Always without judgment of Octavius’s ignorance. Never at rest, his hands wave around wildly as he talks._

Cecil stumbles, bruising his knees against a table. He curses.

Mouth pressed together, Octavius pays little heed. Deemed unimportant, the clatter fades into the background. Instead, he leans forward despite Jedediah’s squeak of surprise and hugs him to his chest.

“What the — what are you doing?” A harsh whisper. But still a whisper. Deliberately low enough in pitch that his voice does not carry.

Stiffened spine, arms limp at his sides, there is no reciprocation. None.

And then an explosion of energy — resistance — the manic, desperate need to escape confinement.

“Hush. You’re alright. It’s only me.”

No touching.

“Yeah, I get that. But what're you doin'!” Jedediah hisses again. The accent is thick and his voice is a little high-pitched. Still hushed, however, despite the building panic. Deliberately attempting to keep Octavius safe and unnoticed.

Hands raised. Gripping Octavius’s arms now, not to reciprocate, but to put distance between them.

“I’m embracing you.”

“Why?”

Jedediah is more confused than anything else. It’s in his voice.

He is strong enough to break the hold. In fact, he does.

Even now he can wrench completely free from Octavius if he truly wants to. Octavius would let him. The embrace isn’t about containing him against his will or holding him down. It’s about setting him free.

_Jedediah teaches, lectures, and informs. Always without judgment of Octavius’s ignorance._

It is with remarkably little fanfare that Octavius eases into another life. The only exception is his furiously knocking heart. With quietly earnest and panic-stricken eyes, Jedediah asked a question and Octavius is compelled to answer truthfully.

_Why?_

Lesson one.

“Because _this_ is what friends do.”

Jedediah stills, the fight abruptly leaving him. A soft, disbelieving sound escapes his throat. The noise is pitched so low now that it’s barely audible. It’s the sound a wolf makes when approached after being neglected and horrifically mistreated by human hands.

But it’s alright.

_Long before history was recorded, two twins by the name of Rōmulus and Rĕmus were fathered by the god of war and abandoned to die along the banks of the River Tiber. There they were rescued and taken in, adopted by an adoring mother who was ever-watchful with alert ears and glaring eyes. She sheltered, loved, and nurtured them before giving them over to the care of a shepherd. For she was nearing the end of her lifespan and could not stay. Together, the twins founded a new city. Soon after, they quarreled and Rĕmus was slain. Rōmulus named his new home Rome after himself and created its first legions, molding and shaping its people into what they are. Wolves. Like the only mother the twins had ever known._

Octavius loosens his grip on Jedediah’s arms.

The statement hangs in the air, gaining strength and momentum, spinning with power, shaping itself into more than mere words. Becoming real.

Jedediah’s face knots with uncertainty. Gradually, he lifts his eyes. His gaze holds a silent question.

_Come on! Gimme something!_

Solemnly, Octavius nods. He mouths a single word. _Yes._

Jedediah lowers his eyes. Stops. Clears his throat. He swallows, and tries again.

“You know...” he begins conversationally, plucking a lecture topic seemingly at random from the air.

He stops again. Haltingly, he begins again, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Kemosabe is actually two words put together. _Sabe_ and _kema. Sabe_ , is Tewa. Used for Apaches, or a word to describe someone outside one's own tribe.”

It is only after Jedediah falls silent that Octavius realizes he became unwittingly transfixed and forgot to breathe. He isn’t even entirely certain if he blinked.

Throat tight, he inquires, “And _kema_?”

Jedediah hesitates, lifts his gaze.

“Oh, um,” he begins, his tone flat, nonchalant. His brows knit together. He pulls a face. More silence. He blows out a breath. At last, he lifts a shoulder a mere fraction of an inch. He clears his throat, his face dimming into a neutral expression. “Friend...”

The word is tossed out so casually it is anything but.

Octavius’s chin quivers. He closes his eyes; opens them. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, trying to make his throat work.

Jedediah swallows hard and looks away. He bends his head back and closes his eyes in a long, slow blink. It could not be said that he appears particularly enthralled by the continued contact, but he isn’t fighting it any longer either. Seemingly calm, he gazes at the underside of the bookcase. His shoulders relax a fraction.

Casual and plaintive, he clicks his tongue.

“God, your timing is terrible,” he complains.

Octavius laughs wetly, heart pounding in jubilation. “I’ll have you know my timing is perfect.”

Jedediah harrumphs.

“And you’re touchy-feely,” he observes, still complaining.

“Yes.” Octavius lifts his chin proudly. His eyes gleam with amusement. “Yes, I am.”

“And a spitfire.”

Octavius pauses, and then angles his head in a slight bow. “I don’t know what that means, but alright.”

Jedediah's face screws up in distaste. Grimacing, he shakes his head. “I shoulda known. I shoulda known.” His eyes are torturously unhappy. Rueful, self-deprecation, mixed with aggravation. “Shoulda known you’d be a hugger. Son of a biscuit!”

He says this with a shudder, as though all these years of fighting were normal and the concept of Octavius being inclined toward spontaneous, physical affection is the oddity. And the worst possible thing the universe could have ever thrown at him.

“Dad-blame, sneaky Roman wiles,” he adds, still grumbling. “Consarn it!”

Humor sparks in Octavius’s eyes. Jedediah’s petulance tickles him. Even with all of his numerous complaints and nonsensical epithets, he isn’t balking. It would seem that, for all of his bluster, Jedediah wants this friendship every bit as much as Octavius. He simply cannot express it.

It makes Octavius feel giddy, silly even. “This is your life now. Grow accustomed to it. I have tendencies. Embraces will occur suddenly and at random intervals.”

Octavius leaves no room for argument or negotiation. Romans do not negotiate.

Jedediah looks absolutely terrified. His eyes flare wide.

Octavius leans forward. With both palms, he clasps Jedediah's face between his hands. Lesson two, they have already covered. However, it is vitally necessary and deserves to be repeated.

“This is change. Adapt with me.”

The contact is too much, too soon.

Jedediah abruptly stops complaining and clenches his eyes shut. He tugs his chin to the side with a constrained expression, shrugging off Octavius's hands.

When he opens his eyes back up, his gaze has gone flat. Distant. He stares blankly over Octavius's shoulder.

His aversion to touch is deeply ingrained. He does not like it. However, he is tolerating it. He does not balk at the close proximity. Neither repulsed nor disgusted, he is nevertheless wordlessly setting up new boundaries. Retrenching.

Adapting.

Octavius allows his hands to drop. He lets them rest respectfully atop Jedediah’s shoulders, watching him with a patient, steady expression. Now that he has a greater understanding of his friend’s caution and reserve, he realizes if he wants to keep this burgeoning friendship, he can push up to a point, but he cannot rush.

Change is not sudden. Nor is it a simple finger-flick turning the lights on and off overhead. It is a garden. It is cultivation — made up of time, growth, attention, care, effort, and patience.

All of these Octavius has in abundance.

And Jedediah is making a Herculean effort not to wrench himself loose from the continued contact.

Octavius smiles his encouragement through his eyes, silently communicating to Jedediah that his reserve is perfectly alright. That he’s alright. And that this simple contact they still share isn’t killing him; he only thinks it is.

Jedediah snaps his focus back to him. He swallows hard and bites his lip. After another brief hesitation, he continues on with his etymology lecture as though it never stopped.

“Actually,” he resumes. He speaks slowly, pondering over words as though carefully selecting each one before he says them. “ _Kemosabe_ is much older. It derives from _gimoozaabi_ , which is the Ojibwe and Potawatomi word meaning: _he looks out in secret_.”

The translation awakens a pure, sweet excitement in Octavius’s stomach. He slides his arm around Jedediah’s shoulders, gently enfolding him in another embrace, keeping the pressure light and easily breakable.

A startled noise — not quite a squawk this time — followed by a shoulder tic. Muscles bunch again, stiff, but this time unresisting. Not in a tormented, forced-to-endure kind of way, but more like Jedediah does not know quite how to respond.

It breaks Octavius’s heart. He imagines Jedediah’s eyes wide in the dark.

Jedediah is still talking; always talking. Working out a problem on his own, as is his custom. Not yet fully comprehending that he is no longer alone.

He speeds up, slows down. It’s as though if he ever stops talking, he may die.

Talk, talk, whisper, whisper.

“Or I could just be full of it and the name really means something that ain’t repeatable.”

The soft southern drawl betrays the ambiguous, self-preserving nature of the deflection for what it is. The words are so thickly spoken they come out _tha’taint repeatable_.

Jedediah lets out a squeak as he is only embraced tighter. “Oct,” he sighs. Clears his throat. “Octy, I can’t breathe...”

 

* * *

 

 

[ ](http://rimuray.tumblr.com/post/138814663481/i-made-a-little-comic-about-a-beautiful-jedtavius)

* * *

_Only slightly later..._

“Are you ever goin’ to stop huggin’ me?”

Octavius does not immediately speak. Now that he has Jedediah, he never wants to let go.

“This is what friends do,” he repeats simply, willing his friend to believe him.

Gradually the tension in Jedediah’s shoulders relaxes. He lets out a long, shuddering breath. It is a soft, rueful exhalation laced with exasperation. Not defeat, but acceptance. His head falls forward over Octavius’s shoulder.

“Your God-dang Roman melodrama is going ta’ wind up being the death of me.”

Octavius snorts. “That would be quite the feat, considering the fact you’re dead already.”

“No, I ain’t. We’re alive. The both of us.”

Octavius smiles and nods once. “Yes.”

The pounding at the door continues its harsh staccato rhythm, however it is nothing compared to the flutter of butterfly wings beating time in his breast. Diamonds continue to sparkle down from the ceiling as Attila hurls himself against the locked entrance. The world could crumble down around him and he would not notice. Everything that matters to him at this very moment is right here, in his arms, and he is not fighting him.

Wondrously, even through his armor, Octavius feels an arm slowly slide up and snake loosely around his waist.

He closes his eyes as Jedediah makes a first tentative reach.

It is experimental — the ghost of an embrace — existing, but only barely there.

He can feel Jedediah's breath, warm and steady, on the back of his neck. Gooseflesh rises. It feels like the soft warmth from a hot summer wind.

Octavius believes this giddiness building inside his chest must have been what the Greek sculptor, Pygmalion experienced when cold, inanimate marble softened under his fingertips and became flesh.

_Only slightly later..._

A large foot comes down very near their hiding place. They break apart when Cecil stumbles.

They jerk their attention back to the chaos above them.  

“What the —”

They watch the dizzying motion of Cecil’s leather footwear as he spins around, accidentally kicking more books across the floor as he trips over them.

They look up at a frazzled Cecil spreading his arms wide at the scattered mess on the floor. “ _Who_ keeps doing this?”

Guiltily, Octavius slides his gaze over to Jedediah and promptly does a double take.

Jedediah’s eyes have gone crescent moon-shaped. His grin stretches from ear to ear in obvious pride. The lunatic.

Cecil’s tirade is interrupted by a loud rap, followed by another sharp crack of splintering wood.

“Uh-oh,” Cecil murmurs, throwing himself backward and smacking against the bookshelf they are hiding under.

They freeze, hardly daring to breathe. Slowly, they lift their gazes up.

The bookshelf bounces and shudders, rocking back and forth in an ever-increasing, curving trajectory.

Hands and feet sliding over the floor, they leap up in a frenzied scramble, bolting free from the shelving unit before it can topple over. Unseen, they retreat to the next bookshelf, taking a flying leap, and clambering up to relative safety.

Cecil looks around in wild, panicked desperation, torn by indecision.

He lunges forward, switches off the lights, and then backpedals. Ducking for cover, he scrambles on his hands and knees in the darkness for a hiding place as the door explodes inward for a second time, taking part of the framework with it.

The chair Cecil propped against the door goes flying as Huns charge into the room with clubs and axes drawn, eyes dark and glittering.

While bulky, they move with incredible speed.

The leader of the group, _Attila_ obviously, whirls to his men. He drops his ax. Speaking loudly in his own tongue, he twists his hands, bunching an invisible _something_ between them. He pulls it apart, indicating what he wishes to do to Cecil.

He turns to face the library, and spreads his arms wide. Looking like a mad prophet, he lifts his hands up with a wild-eyed shout.

The other Huns cheer, thrusting their weapons toward the ceiling.

They stalk forward, the thrill of the hunt sparking their eyes. Gaze darting around the room, Attila moves with catlike silence.

A Hun behind him trips over a fallen book. He catches himself before he can fall and rights himself. Glowering, he reaches down and snatches the offending tome. He opens the book up in the middle and proceeds to rip it in half. Yelling in triumph, the Hun casts it aside.

Encouraged, another Hun knocks a score of books off the bookcase nearest the door.

Beside him, Jedediah lets out a shuddering gasp over the mangled tomes. He looks up. His eyes blaze in their sockets. Forgetting himself, he steps forward from his hiding place and lifts his index finger. Opening up his mouth, he builds up steam for a tirade despite the danger.

He lets out a muffled squeak of protest as Octavius clamps his hand over his mouth.

Octavius wraps his other arm around Jedediah’s waist, pulling Jedediah against him. They slip deeper into shadow, pressing tighter against the back of the shelving unit.

One Hun screams and lifts a club to a desk lamp. A shower of sparks shoots out from the tortured device as he sweeps it off a reading table and onto the floor. He smashes it to pieces.

The others cheer raucously.

Jedediah’s gloved hand slips down to clutch Octavius’s forearm still wrapped around his waist. His fingers dig deep.

The Huns make a lot of noise. A lot. They hoot. They yip. They howl. Posturing, they use their size and sharp voices to intimidate and ferret out Cecil’s location, enough to spook him and make him want to run.

Octavius watches Cecil peek cautiously around the bottom of a bookshelf, hidden in the dark. He fixes his gaze on Attila and his men, moving slowly. Inching back, he keeps as much distance between himself and them as possible. Without the light, it makes it difficult for his pursuers to find him.

Octavius and Jedediah track him quietly from bookshelf to bookshelf. They press themselves flat against the spines of tomes, standing like statues when a Hun jerks his attention in their direction, appearing to catch movement out of the corner of his eye.

They fall into a tense silence and stand perfectly still, expectant. Breathing shallowly through their mouths, they do not retreat, lest any motion give them away.

The Hun scratches the back of his neck, spooked, feeling their gazes, but moves on without any further indication that he’s detected them.

Letting out a long puff of air, Octavius drops into a crouch. Jedediah follows suit. They press themselves deeper into shadow and move with even greater stealth.

Cecil begins to ease out of his newest hiding place as silently as possible. It appears as though he’s trying to circle his way around the library and dart out of the door if given the chance.

Not paying closer attention to where he is going, Cecil backs into a bookcase and a large tome falls to the floor with a loud crash.

There is a pause as every pair of eyes shift and focus on him.

The Huns howl.

Cecil flinches back.

Attila lifts a finger for silence.

Disappointment flickers across the other Huns’ faces, but they obey, falling silent. A couple of them pretend to lunge which only causes Cecil to back into the bookcase again. More books come crashing down around him.

The King of the Huns points at the guard. Ranting in his own tongue, he twists his palms together again, pulling them back apart. He points at Cecil again, the threat clear.

The floorboard creaks under Attila’s feet as he takes a step forward.

Cecil tries to force a chuckle. “Can’t we talk about this?” he asks.

The reply is an inarticulate roar.

Cecil recoils and scuttles away. He flings himself back into the darkness.

Octavius watches with growing trepidation. He cannot stand it. Energy vibrates through him to stop this madness. He is a man of action and cannot simply crouch in the dark. Cannot do nothing.

"We must do something."

"What!" Jedediah squawks. His features register frank disbelief. "No!" He makes a sweeping hand gesture. "No."

“Jedediah…”

They have a brief argument.

Jedediah points and whisper-shouts. Octavius holds his arms out in front of him, palms upwards in entreaty.

Gesturing wildly, Jedediah’s eyes flash. He points his finger down at the ground, sweeping it over to the retreating Cecil. “No. We ain’t riskin’ our hides for the likes of _them_.”

“Jedediah,” Octavius reasons. “The branding is gone.”

“This ain’t about the brands. I’m talkin’ about survival! Yours,” Jedediah whisper-hisses. “What’d I say? What part of _he’s_ _goin’_ _ta’_ _tear_ _ya_ _ta’ pieces_ ain't sinkin' in, huh? No.” He makes a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Just, no!”

Octavius ignores the chill in Jedediah’s eyes and the hands bunching tightly into fists. Standing his ground.

“Jedediah. We must do this.”

Jedediah blinks. Bending his head low, he places his hands on his hips, bouncing on the toes of his booted feet in obvious agitation.

“Jedediah. It’s dark. He doesn’t have to see us. We’ll merely supply a distraction that allows the guard time to escape.”

Jedediah brings his head up. Still bouncing, the bland expression now on his face conveys studied indifference. His stricken blue eyes say differently. He lifts his index finger.

“Give me one good reason why we should…”

Octavius can tell Jedediah cannot stand not helping despite the facade. If Jedediah requires a reason to sway him, Octavius will give him two.

“Because we’re the good guys.” Octavius marvels at his choice of words. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

This admission is a little dizzying. Empowering. Liberating. Absolutely terrifying.

He is used to being the leader, yes, but not necessarily the moral compass. It is a strange, magnificent sort of thrill. There’s a feeling of awakening, stretching, making room to accommodate this new person he’s growing into.

He can be the good guy; it feels a little like destiny.

Despite the risk, helping Cecil is the right thing to do. There is no denying it.

Octavius casts a quick glance down at the ground before he looks up, catching Jedediah's gaze, silently pleading for understanding.

Jedediah lets out a huff of sarcasm, oblivious to this momentous occasion. His exhalation is more akin to a sigh of martyrdom than anything else. And then he stops. Processing.

The tightness leaves his features and his mouth gentles. His eyes flare wide in unfeigned surprise, roving over Octavius’s face. They appear to glow.

If Octavius didn’t know better he could almost swear that Jedediah rocks back on his heels a little. Not in agitation this time, but with thinly veiled enthusiasm.

Octavius stares, entranced.

He cannot help but appreciate the way Jedediah’s tousled mop curls away from his ears, trapped underneath that ridiculous hat of his, springing up with each excited bounce.

Jedediah’s lips twist into a wide goofy grin. Happy. His resistance falters.

Just as instantly, his smile turns brittle. A thoughtful look creases his brow, the light from his eyes fading. His tongue traces the inside of his bottom lip. For a moment he hesitates, then Jedediah looks up. His eyes reflect fear, apprehension, and uncertainty.

“I really hate them, Octavius.”

The words are so softly spoken that Octavius falters.

He fixes his gaze on Jedediah, expression gentle. “I know.” It is said with compassion, his tone nonjudgmental, low, and solemn. “Perhaps we can use this to our advantage and later ingratiate ourselves. Make Cecil our ally?”

For a moment, Octavius forgets who he is speaking to. He’s employed the wrong strategy.

Jedediah’s lips part slightly. He lifts his chin and studies Octavius with the air of an offended prince. Or an emperor.

Drat.

_Foiled._

“If we do this,” Octavius continues, taking a step forward. His voice is low, a mixture of coaxing and pleading, furiously seeking out the proper combination of enticements to sway Jedediah over to his way of thinking. “I’ll confess _all_ to Teddy,” he offers, grandly. “I’ll inform him that it is _you_ and not _I_ who is the better half.”

Jedediah stares at him through slitted eyes. A muscle works in his jaw.

Octavius folds under the uncompromising glare. “No good?”

Jedediah remains blank-faced. His stony silence is his only reply.

“Hmm.” Octavius thinks fast. He brightens. His voice drops into a confiding, near-seductive whisper. “After we conquer Mount Everest, and we’ve had ample opportunity to thaw out, we shall tour Africa.”

That gets Jedediah’s attention.

He sucks in a breath. His eyes brighten, flaring wide. “You’d take me to Africa?”

Octavius smiles. Jedediah is hooked. Now he simply has to reel him in. The offer cannot be too good to be true or Octavius will lose him. Although, come to think of it, he’s also being entirely serious with the offer.

“Under one condition.” He holds up a finger and glances down at his attire. He looks up. “We shall go to Africa. And I’ll wear what I have on. No pants.”

Jedediah scrunches up his face, looking as though he’s tasted something sour.

“No pants,” Octavius insists. “And we go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s hot and I wish to be comfortable.” Octavius sweeps a hand down the length of his body. “And this suits me.”

“Did you — oh my God! Did you just make a bad pun?” Jedediah whispers incredulously.

Octavius stills and considers. “No, not intentionally. No. Although, now that you mention it..." He inclines his head. "I suppose I did.”

Jedediah lifts a fist to his mouth, trembling in excitement. He thrusts his index finger out and adds his own criteria.

“My horse is coming, too.”

Octavius inclines his head. “I never doubted it.”

“And I want a machete.”

Dumbfounded, Octavius can only blink. “What’s a machete?”

“It’s like this big, really, long _loco_ knife.” Jedediah illustrates its appearance with his hands. “Used to cut through vines, undergrowth, and things.”

It’s the _and things_ that has Octavius contemplate rescinding his offer. Suddenly suspicious, he narrows his eyes in calculation and asks, “Whatever do you need one of those for?”

Jedediah lights up. “I’m gonna whack weeds with it.” Ever the adventurer, he pantomimes the action, slashing through imaginary underbrush with his fist.

Octavius lets out a relieved breath. His heart now full to bursting, he agrees.

“If a machete, is what you desire...” He gestures broadly and meets Jedediah's gaze. He bows with flourish. “Then you shall have it. I’ll have Felix fashion one for you. He will put his newfound skills to good use. It will be intricately engraved and the envy of all of Rome!”

“And I want to ride an elephant.”

Octavius pauses, and then nods. “Very well.”

Jedediah lifts his eyebrows hopefully. “Crocodile rodeo?”

“If that is your — no!” A line forms between Octavius’s brows. “No crocodile rodeo!”

Too late. Jedediah’s grin stretches wide.

Octavius balls his hands into fists. “Jedediah, no!”

“You may say, _Jedediah, no_. But your eyes say _Jedediah, yes_!” Jedediah exclaims.

"My eyes say nothing of the kind!" Hands on hips, Octavius is about to argue the dangers of such an endeavor when Jedediah flicks an imaginary lasso over his head.

“I’m riding it. Yee-haw! Saddle up!”

“Jedediah! This is not open for negotiation.”

“Do you see a ring on my finger?” Jedediah wiggles the gloved fingers on his left hand in front of Octavius’s face. “I’m doin’ it anyway!”

Octavius brushes Jedediah's nonsensical words aside with an impatient gesture. He’s never even _seen_ Jedediah’s fingers, let alone jewelry of any kind. Nevertheless, he is uncertain how rings are related to the matter at hand. He considers the possibility that he may have been out-maneuvered in his scheme to save Cecil.

Jedediah is already gone, contemplating the next man-eating monstrosity he’s bound and determined to hop on and ride.

He’s positively floaty. His face radiates happiness.

Expression dreamlike, he slowly says, “Africa…”

Or perhaps Octavius is not out-maneuvered.

He massages his temples and then seizes onto a blue-colored sleeve in the darkness. He rolls his eyes and pulls Jedediah after him.

He marvels at the mental wanderings of his friend. Only Jedediah would take such obvious delight in the idea of traveling to distant lands in order to ride the local wildlife and most likely be eaten or stomped on in the process.

“Come along, darling.”

* * *

_Only slightly later…_

Octavius and Jedediah flit from bookshelf to bookshelf. They skid to a halt, watching as the Huns search for Cecil.

With the enchantments of Africa momentarily broken, Jedediah turns to Octavius and crosses his arms.

“So tell me, oh wise one. What’s your big, high-fluting idea? How we gonna play this so ya don't get torn limb-from-limb?”

Octavius pauses, and then falters.

Jedediah blinks. "You _do_ have a plan, right, Ockie?" He sets his hands on his hips. "Octavius, tell me ya gotta plan..."

Octavius fidgets. He glances away, looking guilty. "I confess I hadn’t thought quite that far in advance. There was a call to action and I answered."

"So, no plan." Jedediah's eyes flare wide. "No plan." He moves to stand close by him. " _No plan_? Octavius!"

Octavius clears his throat. "I was more concerned with getting you on board with our rescue efforts than with coming up with anything definitive. I miscalculated. I can only think up one glorious scheme at a time!"

"Gah!" Jedediah flings his arms wide, scoffing at this line of reasoning. "I can't take you anywhere!" 

"You're not helping..."

Irate, Jedediah slants his eyes sideways and begins pacing.

Octavius’s mind whirls. A moment passes. He glances around them for some insight.

Jedediah stops pacing and follows his gaze.

At last, they look up, up, and _up._

Their eyes take in all the surrounding tomes.

They turn toward one another. For a split-second, they can only stare. A peculiar, knowing grin lifts the corners of their mouths.

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin,’ partner?” Jedediah asks with a mad gleam now in his eyes.

Octavius tilts his head. He arches an eyebrow hopefully. “Poltergeist?”

Jedediah’s grin stretches into a full-blown smile. He nods.

“Poltergeist!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for leaving this at another cliffhanger. This was not my intention However, I must confess that a lot is happening in my personal life at present. I've recently left my very long-term employer as the job became a nightmare due to a hostile work environment. Since I was hoping to have a chapter ready before Christmas, I decided to leave it where it is. I do appreciate your continued patience and I hope you enjoy. I also hope I have, at the very least, left this chapter at a less terrifying place than the last one. 
> 
> I wish to thank my new beta reader, the ever-amazing [CuriousDinosaur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) for her inspired insight and valuable input. This author writes some truly amazing "Night at the Museum" fanfiction. If you enjoy her work, please show her some love.
> 
> The breathtaking and beautiful fan art showcased in this chapter was created by the extremely generous and very talented [rimuray.](http://rimuray.tumblr.com/) Rimuray is also [here ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rimuray/pseuds/Rimuray) on AO3. Thank you so, so much! I am stunned, humbled and honored. And extremely proud. Beautiful. Simply beautiful.  
> The artist's original post can be found [here.](http://rimuray.tumblr.com/post/138814663481/i-made-a-little-comic-about-a-beautiful-jedtavius) If you like the artist's work, please show them some love! <333


	13. All Fired Up!, Part 1

* * *

_Only slightly later…_

Using small, quiet movements, Octavius and Jedediah keep their backs against the tomes and edge toward Cecil and the Huns. They twist around, and start climbing like a pair of phantoms.

The Huns are enormous. Powerfully built with muscular torsos, their limbs are made for mayhem and destruction.

They snap their enormous, shaggy heads from side to side, alert for signs of motion in the darkness.

The spooked Hun from earlier pauses and nervously rubs the back of his neck. He opens his mouth as though wanting to alert the others, but stops. The Hun turns in a full circle. Anxious eyes roam, darting from side to side.

Octavius grabs Jedediah’s wrist out of protective instinct. They kneel, hunkering down further into the shadows, freezing in place.

After a beat, the Hun grimly shakes himself in agitation and moves on. Still troubled, he swivels his head. A line appears between his eyebrows.

He obviously senses their presence, even if he cannot see them. Fearful, the perceptive man walks backwards, inadvertently bumping into the Hun in front of him.

The other man jumps and turns, barking in their own tongue. He growls, showing more of the Hun-ish temper, when the perceptive one waves his arms about, attempting to explain.

Having none of it, the barker bodily throws the other Hun into the bookcase Octavius and Jedediah are crouching on.

The shelving unit rocks dangerously.

Octavius and Jedediah cling to each other in an effort not to be swept from their perch.

The violent rocking dislodges their hold. Torn from each other’s grasp, Octavius is thrown forward.

“‘Tavius!” Jedediah shouts, hand outstretched, as Octavius slides toward the edge.

Toppling end over end, Octavius continues his forward roll. Palms out, he scrabbles for purchase, attempting to slow his accelerating momentum.

For a moment, he skids, getting his feet under him, but his sandals lack traction. He’d melted what little he had away.

Twisting, Octavius snaps his neck around as gravity wrenches him further from Jedediah.

Their gazes lock. Time slows.

Jedediah’s eyes are wide, his gloved arm still outstretched. Octavius reaches out his palm. He smiles his farewell.

And, then Octavius’s body bounces, twists, tumbles, and topples, painfully returned into an uncontrollable slide.

The shelf is glossy, with a mirror-like sheen, offering him little in the way of physical resistance or protection from hurtling over the side and plummeting to the floor.

The fall won’t kill him, but he could be inadvertently trampled underfoot by the arguing Huns. Or, noticed, and torn apart for sport.

Behind him, Jedediah scrambles to his feet and grabs hold of a corner of a book. Breaking into a run, he pumps his legs, allowing gravity to open the tome’s spine and build momentum.

He pushes off and swings, kicking out with his legs.

Angling his body, he reaches, arms outstretched, and snatches Octavius by the waist before he can topple over the side of the ledge.

Swinging back, he clings to the book cover with a one-handed grip. He rides the tome, picking up even more momentum. He bends at the waist, and kicks out with his legs. Using his lower body to push up like a high-flying acrobat, he flings Octavius against the very back wall of the shelving unit.

Octavius hits with a soft _thump_.

Pages fly as momentum swings Jedediah forward. He pumps with his knees bent and swings backward.

The book he is utilizing starts to twist and slide under him and off the shelf. It tilts dangerously, sending Jedediah off course and quite possibly to his doom.

On the backward swing, Jedediah abruptly lets go, taking flight just as the book loses ground and teeters precariously high over the ledge and above the Huns and their frenzied activity below.

Wildly windmilling his arms, he twirls in mid air, kicking his legs —

— and lands in Octavius’s lap with an _"Uhff!"_

Breath knocked out of him, and with the brim of the Stetson poking his forehead, Octavius is stunned. He can only stare at his lap full of blond cowboy before Jedediah startles and scrambles off with a yelp, rolling away from the contact. He leaps over Octavius’s side.

He mumbles a panting apology.

Octavius blinks, dumbfounded. “Sorry?” Wonder sculpts his features. First, the Impossible vertical climb, and now, this. “What _are_ you?” he asks again, repeating his question from earlier in the night.

Jedediah squints, nose crinkling.

“Whataya mean, _what am I_? What are _you_?” he asks. He rubs the back of his neck. Clicking his tongue, he mutters, “ _What am_ _I_?”

“My question was in earnest.”

“I ain’t anybody special.”

“I beg to differ.”

Jedediah looks embarrassed and stares straight ahead. He speaks out of the side of his mouth.

“I climbed a lot of trees as a kid. And used ta’ scale up the sides of mountains when I got bored.”

Eyes wide, Octavius’s eyebrows shoot up.

Jedediah holds up his gloved palms. “Not as a kid, doggone it! That came later. I liked nature, okay?” he says, coloring all the way down to his red neckerchief. “I improvised.”

The book Jedediah had been swinging from finally loses contact with the shelf and plummets to the floor.

Fully exposed, they freeze, clinging to each other.

They keep their heads down, as low as they can go. And then, Jedediah makes a noise and pounces.

Octavius lets out a grunt, sprawled out flat by the weight of his friend. The warm body is not unpleasant, but it’s a shock and the weight is causing his steel greaves to cut into his legs.

He takes a shuddering breath willing his own body not to react.

Thinking he’s about to let out a string of invective, Jedediah quickly whispers and assures, “Quiet. You’re all shiny.”

He tucks his chin and blankets Octavius, covering his breastplate and greaves with his body, concealing its telltale gleam.

He clutches like a shipwrecked sailor clings to a piece of driftwood, lost at sea.

Octavius wraps his arms around him, holding on equally as tight.

As luck, or fate, would have it, the perceptive Hun ignores the tome and them entirely.

Instead, he stiffens his spine at the barker’s challenge. His eyes blaze.

He charges, diving into a flying tackle.

They fall to the floor, ripping into each other.

The scene is almost enough to cause Octavius to lose his courage and rethink their plan.

He trembles, breathing deeply at the savageness between the thrashing combatants.

The Huns roll around and around, exchanging blows and rocking the surrounding bookcases.

If this is how Huns treat comrades...

Above the tumult, he comes to the realization that he has made a very serious error in judgment. There is no honor to be gained here. Or redemption.

Only pointless slaughter.

He’s placed both Jedediah and he in mortal peril. If they are discovered, they will be torn limb from limb. Or, at least Octavius will. The gods only know what they’d do to Jedediah.

Channeling every ounce of his will into his eyes, he rolls his head. He cranes his neck, refusing to blink, glowering down at the Huns.

This is unlikely the best course of action to take, but it makes him feel better. More in control. The threat is evident in his gaze.

 _You will not see us._ _You will not touch us._ _Or there will be retribution._

Meanwhile, the other Huns cheer, circling the feuding pair, their attention diverted, Cecil momentarily forgotten.

Octavius rolls his head in the opposite direction, toward the night watchman and wills him to run.

Cecil is frozen, transfixed by the fight.

_Blast him._

“Retreat, you fool! Run!” Octavius mouths. _So we can._

Attila shoulders his way past the other Huns, knocking them to the side.

The bookcase Octavius and Jedediah are on rocks plaintively and they slide forward, but do not fall.

Kicking the barker in the rump for starting the fight, Attila points back and forth between the two men, chastising them both for the in-fighting. He waves his hands and then twists an invisible _something_ , bunching it between his hands. And then he points at the two on the ground, his meaning clear.

The fight is over.

The two Huns break apart, smoothing their attire, glowering at each other.

The perceptive Hun points around the library, obviously, explaining to their leader the feeling of being watched.

Octavius and Jedediah lock gazes with one another, bracing themselves for the inevitable.

Attila throws up his hands and points over to where they had last seen Cecil.

Octavius is momentarily startled by Jedediah’s shuddering gasp. Rolling his head, he watches Jedediah clench his eyes shut. He bites his lip so as not to cry out. He tucks his forehead against the crook of Octavius’s neck.

Confused, Octavius rolls his head the other way and cranes to see over the Stetson.

A third Hun has grabbed a book from the shelf and is gleefully ripping out pages from it and is wadding them into his mouth.

The book has Octavius’s name printed on the spine. He approves.

Nodding, he whispers under his breath, giving his edict of approval, “Yes, you foul creature. Swallow them all.”  

Jedediah, on the other hand is irate. Still hunkered down, he is indignant on Octavius’s behalf. “He’s eating away at your dad-blame legacy, Octy!” His voice is high-pitched.

Octavius smiles brightly and pops his head up, all teeth. “It is a glorious evening to be devoured whole.”

Jedediah’s gloved hand splays out, covers Octavius’s face, and forces his head back down.

Still beaming, Octavius grips Jedediah’s wrist, tugging at it to get Jedediah to let go. He does. Octavius swivels his head. He watches Attila glare at the page-eater.

The page-eater grins hopefully at their leader and offers him a torn page out of his book.

With a roar, Attila smacks the book out of the page-eater’s hands.

It slides across the floor.

Attila crowds the man, grabs him by the fur-lined neck, and shakes him, clipping his words, holding him off the floor.

And then he drops him back down.

Stepping back, he flings his arms wide, continuing his rant.

Scolded, the page-eater hangs his head.

Attila points at the Hun, and then cuffs him on the back of the head, ruffling his furred hat affectionately.

Octavius’s brow crinkles.

Attila claps the man on the back, and then pushes him forward in Cecil’s direction. Jerking his neck, he calls for his entourage to follow him.

When the Huns turn a corner, Octavius and Jedediah pop their heads up, craning their necks.

Now Hun free, Jedediah lifts his weight off. Octavius grunts at the dismount, feeling bereft.

Crawling on his hands and knees, Jedediah stares over the side of the bookshelf, making tiny, wounded noises in the back of his throat. He stares down at another set of destroyed tomes, speechless. Several of them all have some form of Octavius’s name written across their mangled covers.

Octavius crawls over to join him, the steel greaves, once again cutting sharply into his flesh. He glances over the edge.

“They are only books,” he consoles, not mournful in the slightest. He feels giddy. Positively gleeful at their destruction. He forces himself to maintain a somber facade.

Several down, an entire wall to go.

If it wasn’t for the Huns being such a lethal scourge, Octavius could see himself rather liking them.

They have their uses.

Octavius’s lip curls at the corners, he rocks back and forth on his feet a little.

Voice pitched low, he pats Jedediah’s back. He shakes his head.

“Words are just words. They do not _mean_ anything.”

Overcome by the destruction of the books, Jedediah allows Octavius’s touch. Unthinking. No doubt numb. He tilts his head, as though trying to will the tomes back together.

They remain broken.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers. “They mean _everything_.”

Jedediah casts his gaze over to Octavius. He looks up through his lashes, eyes blazing blue flame.

Octavius gulps. His mouth falls open. He steps back a few paces at the sudden flare up.

“Come on,” Jedediah says, and jerks his chin. He pushes to his feet. “I got me a score to settle.”

* * *

_Only slightly later..._

The sounds of annihilation precede them down the aisle.

The Huns seem more intent on destruction and mayhem than with finding Cecil at the moment.

Still, Octavius realizes that if they are going to follow through with his well-intended, if poorly thought out brainchild, their actions must be carefully timed or they will risk being seen.

Ahead of them, a bookcase collapses when an ax slices it down the middle, taking multiple rows of shelving and books along with it.

In front of him, Jedediah slowly lowers his body into an even deeper crouch. Knees bent, he tracks the Huns on silent feet. He is low to the ground, so low, his rump nearly touches the shelf. Leaning to one side, he stares upward, inspecting the books on a higher level.

He cranes his neck, asking a question with his eyes.

Octavius frowns and shakes his head. They are too far away. If their plan of _poltergeist_ is going to work, they need to be directly ahead or directly behind the Huns.

Holding up a gloved palm, Jedediah twists forward. His crouched legs are held at a nearly impossible angle, revealing more of his nimble, athletic prowess as he tracks the Huns around a corner.

Unaffected by the loss of the mangled tomes — or at least, the ones with his name on them — Octavius pauses a moment to appreciate the view. He arches a brow.

It is doubtful Jedediah has the kind of thighs able to crack walnuts, but they are still rather striking nevertheless. He likes the way the leather breeches cling to Jedediah’s rump.

The library’s half-light accentuates Jedediah’s tousled blond mop and pale skin, giving him that otherworldly quality again. He practically glows in the semi-darkness.

Romans greatly esteem the beauty of milky-white skin. A lack of a tan — features unblemished and unkissed by the sun’s rays, is a highly prized trait in Octavius’s culture. It is considered a symbol of wealth and high standing, and it is heart-stoppingly attractive; the only exception being a hint of color – the slightest pinkness to the skin which is looked upon as a sign of good health.

Looking at Jedediah is like looking at a ghost, a ridiculously good-looking phantasm.

Octavius’s heart stutters within his breast.

Jedediah peers around the edge of a bookcase. Turning back toward Octavius, he reveals a gaze with the perfect blending of alluring innocence and calculating cunning. Shadows play, making Jedediah appear savage. Impressively so.

Being in such close proximity, Octavius cannot help but acknowledge how good Jedediah smells. He breathes in the clean, warm scent of him.

Distracted, he inquires, “What are you wearing?”

Jedediah stops stalking the shadows. He squints, temper momentarily abated. His rage is still there, but it has simmered down a notch.

“Huh?” he asks eloquently. “The same thing I always wear, ya goofball.” He lifts up the side of his leather vest and pinches a scrap of flimsy blue cloth between his thumb and fingers.

Octavius shakes his head. “I meant your scent. What are you wearing? It’s intoxicating.”

Blinking, Jedediah opens his mouth. He pauses a moment and says, “Eau de Jedediah.”

Octavius tilts his head.

Jedediah shrugs. “Means I ain’t wearing anything, pal. It’s just me.” He turns his back, intently watching the Huns.

It's Octavius’s turn to blink. It is disconcerting. It takes him a couple of heartbeats to get his bearings. He hadn’t been expecting that, certain Jedediah was wearing some form of perfumed embellishment.

Something’s changed; Octavius knows it. To his knowledge it’s only been recently that he even noticed Jedediah had a unique scent.

It’s then he realizes he’s pressing closer than is entirely necessary. He practically has Jedediah fenced in, his hand splayed quite firmly and possessively against the small of his friend’s back.

Jedediah’s muscles are bunched and are as tense as ever at the contact.

While tense, the touch is being tolerated. It could even be said, patiently so. The only exception is that now Octavius’s notice seems to have kindled Jedediah’s own conscious awareness of the fact.

His head turns. Craning his neck to get a peek at the offending hand that refuses to stop touching him, he goes abruptly still.

It would only take the slightest of breezes to knock Octavius off balance and into Jedediah’s back. Crawl inside his skin and set up a permanent base of operations.

They aren’t even moving and yet Octavius feels a sudden kinship with the cobra when it had been under Jedediah’s thrall.

His gaze smolders, lights beginning to twirl and dance behind his eye sockets. He closes them, dipping his chin, wanting to nuzzle against Jedediah’s neck and inhale the clean scent.

And then all at once, Octavius’s face flames.

Now isn’t the time to dwell on such thoughts.

Nervousness makes him sputter; he’s more than a little embarrassed at his own impropriety.

He backs off several steps and lets out a quiet, “ _Oh._ ” After a pause, he confesses, “You smell really, really good.”

Jedediah gives him an odd look. Vulnerable. Suspicious. Searching. He blinks and glances down.

“Thanks.” After a pause, he shifts uncomfortably. Hesitantly, he says, “Wanna know something funny, Ockie?”

Octavius tilts his head in inquiry, intrigued. He notes the splotches of color on Jedediah’s cheeks.

“I ain't afraid of ya, you understand. But, sometimes. Only, sometimes...” Jedediah’s voice trails off. His gloved hand rubs the back of his neck, his expression troubled. He lifts hooded eyes to face Octavius. His voice has a strange timbre. “You really scare me.”

His words are not meant as a joke or his way of asserting his manliness in the face of Octavius’s unsettling absorption.

Instead, he remains preternaturally still, jaw clenched as though expecting a scathing retort, his frozen attention acting as a shield against mockery for the admission. Color suffuses his neck, tinging it with a healthy shade of pink.

Perhaps Jedediah has a right to fear.

In his time, Octavius snubbed great beauties. Men and women alike. Publically humiliated the more aggressive or desperate, or both, when they refused to take heed and accept he had no wish to remain in their company after their usefulness was spent.

No, he can never claim to have been a good man. However, the ones he made examples of were far from being shining paragons of goodness and virtue. They were not good people. Nor could they make him believe their interest in him was anything other than a ruse, a seduction in order to gain power and influence.

He’s butted heads with Cleopatra, admittedly not a great beauty by either Roman or Egyptian standards, but her cunning and cruel intellect rivaled his own. In this, at least, they were evenly matched.

“Sometimes you frighten me, also,” Octavius admits quietly, compelled once again, to answer honestly. It seems it is becoming increasingly difficult to lie to this man.

After a beat, Jedediah blinks again, uncertain. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are soft and sweet.

As they should be.

A current of energy hums between them.

Octavius watches Jedediah glance away, expression gentling without mockery, his sincere regard reflecting through his gaze.

Jedediah may think Octavius lights up when he smiles, but the same could be said of Jedediah even when that smile does not quite reach his mouth. Even then, something intelligent, darting, and swift illuminates behind his eyes when he is happy.

It is extraordinary, really.

Warmth shoots from his heart to swirl and dance around in his tummy, and he feels the stirrings of pure lust.

Octavius takes in a deep breath, eyes suddenly downcast.

He clears his throat, fighting the desire to forget Cecil and the Huns and their little nighttime melodrama. The fool wouldn’t even run when he’d been mentally commanded, self preservation skills even worse than Jedediah’s.

His ardor rises.

It is all Octavius can do not to succumb to biological imperatives and have his wicked way. Peel leather breeches off and have them pool around Jedediah’s ankles while his own pteruges bunch up around his waist.

He wants to couple.

Even if Jedediah were willing — highly unlikely considering he can barely tolerate touch — and given Octavius’s own quickened state, coupled with the fact that he hasn’t been with another in, well, in basically forever, he doubts their union would be gentle.

His brow crinkles.

It is not what a _friend_ — no — it is not what _Jedediah_ deserves.

Octavius wants to be generous. Take his time. It is his desire to give pleasure, to please. Kiss Jedediah, long and slow and deep. Worship him until he sees stars.

Explore and tame some of that wildness out of him. Not all of it, mind, or he wouldn’t be Jedediah anymore, but at least vanquish the demons.

Enough so that touch would not be looked upon as such a traumatic experience. Where simple, human affection and the desire for intimate union would part his legs.

Octavius would take him in hand until he relaxed and the last horrific memory faded. Work him open, slowly — as befitting this act with a cherished friend — and then, once adequately prepared, plunge into him.

Watch his eyes widen at the intrusion. Hear his breath hitch. Move in tandem. Clean, cover, and hold him after. Laugh with him.

He would be kind.

And, patient.

And, good.

And, deserving…

A sharp pang seizes his heart. He lowers his head.

“I've nothing more to really add to that,” he manages, his voice a melancholy whisper, resigned.

What did this mean, precisely, this insistent preoccupation? He does not know what is wrong with him. He is a fully grown man, not a bumbling youth on the cusp of manhood, well beyond his first initial struggles to control his base urges.

And yet he is reacting like a child experiencing his first crush, inexplicably drawn.

Octavius’s gaze lifts, seeking Jedediah’s.

A line has formed between Jedediah’s eyebrows. He shakes his head, eyes clear. And then they are back to the matter at hand.

They turn as one.

“So, okay. I reckon we got only one more shot at this.” His words speed up as he speaks breathlessly, considerable intensity in his voice. “We need to climb up to the highest shelf so’ins to give the appearance of height and mass. Put on a show.” His voice is pitching with excitement, eyes snapping with eagerness, the rage from earlier almost entirely gone now.

“Make it look to the Huns like that the biggest and the meanest and the baddest spook that ever died spitting mad is hacked off and knocking the books off the shelf. Chomping at the bit to bear down on their dad-blame heads. The whole shebang.”

Octavius spares Jedediah a dubious glance. They had not verbally set the parameters of _poltergeist_ , not having the time before. Nevertheless, they are operating on the same page.

A light kindles behind Jedediah’s eyes. They twinkle. They shine, igniting the beginning sparks of blue flame again.

Despite the danger, a twinge of mischief surges through Octavius and he grins in response to the boyish delight on his friend’s face.

It never ceases to amaze him how crafty Jedediah can be when he chooses. The man is practically diabolical. Very definitely a Roman trait. There must be a trace of the bloodline hidden somewhere within his family tree even if he does not claim to be a “thoroughbred.”

Octavius stares at him in silence. The silence stretches. It is filled with something insistent and quieter than even the silence that now blankets them.

He regards Jedediah with a sudden pang of affection. It is all he can do not to gaze at him with half-smitten moon eyes.

Slowly, Octavius nods, giving his consent. “Agreed.”

There is a sharp crash, loud bangs, rowdy scuffles, ruckus laughter, and harsh curses from the Huns.

Octavius and Jedediah jump involuntarily at the renewed noise.

There is another crash, more distant, and they do not flinch.

“Let me take the outside,” Jedediah says. “I wanna be closest to the Huns.”

Octavius blinks. “Why?”

Jedediah watches the Huns wearily, still crouched, but manages to bounce on the balls of his feet.

“If they see one of us, I want it to be me.”

“Absolutely not!” Octavius hisses, low and savage. “We share in the danger or not at all!”

“We are sharing the danger! But I ain’t agreeing to this if I’m not on the outside!”

Stricken, Octavius narrows his eyes.

“Oh, come on, not again! You really wanna us to whip out and measure our _wedding tackle_ right here, right now? What is it with you?”

Octavius stands firm, obstinate, refusing to be distracted by the incomprehensible babble. “We share the risk.”

Jedediah’s eyes narrow to slits. A thin line creases his forehead. Frowning, he stands up, waving his hand in a gesture of finality.

“I’m on the outside or no deal!”

Octavius rises to his full height. He closes the small distance between them, crowding Jedediah again.

“Learn to choose your battles carefully, _my heart_. If _you_ are on the outside, there will be _no_ crocodile rodeo!”

Jedediah’s slitted eyes widen and his frown disappears. He makes a disbelieving, unhappy sound.

“You wouldn’t…”

“Oh, I most certainly would!” Octavius warns with considerable verve, voice direct and challenging, daring Jedediah to cross him in this. “Regardless, you have no business riding around on the backs of crocodiles.”

Jedediah spreads his arms wide. “But we ain’t married!”

“Nevertheless, _my sweet_. Trifle with me and I’m putting my foot down! I’ll not have you swinging from trees unsupervised. Cheetahs are out of the question. Zebras are unreliable. And ostriches will snap your foolhardy spine!”

Distressed, Jedediah tries, unsuccessfully, to shove his own fist in his mouth.

“You know what?” Jedediah lifts his index finger bobbing it up and down. He opens his mouth. Closes it. At a loss for words, he drops his gaze. “We’ll talk. But not right now. Right now…” He trails off, looking in the direction of another crash. “Right now —” He grits his teeth and pops Octavius on the arm. Hard.

“Ow!” Octavius hisses. Shocked, his mouth falls open. He backs down, rubbing at his arm. “You brute!” He sniffs. “Very well, you’re taking the outside!” he declares, snippiness in his tone, making it an edict.

“Knew you’d come to see it my way.” Jedediah punches him in the arm again for good measure. He rears around and kicks him in the rump.

“Ow!” Octavius jumps, twists, kicking him back. “Barbarian!”

Jedediah yelps as quietly as possible, jumping up and down at the contact, holding his backside.

They stare at each other for a moment.

Rage bubbles up in Octavius’s breast.

From the look on Jedediah’s face, it appears he’s on the verge of body-tackling Octavius to the ground. All at once, he stops bouncing and grins. The skin around his eyes crinkles up at the corners.

His alluring blue eyes appear to glow in the half-light.

The sight only deepens Octavius’s anger.

“That’s my boy. Good. That’s real good. I like your energy,” he says with fervor, and points his index finger. “Now we just need it aimed in the right place. Use some of that anger towards me and direct it at the Huns.”

Faltering at the goading and the true intention behind it, Octavius has now decided that Jedediah is one step beyond diabolical.

He’s positively Roman!

And Octavius has watched his eyes so carefully…

“Jedediah!” he clips.

That telltale, flash of quicksilver cunning is back, blending effortlessly with that infuriating innocence. How Jedediah manages to create this peculiar look that is so uniquely Jedediah is beyond Octavius.

Jedediah’s eyes sparkle with good humor, dark and warm.

Octavius strikes a pose. Belligerent, with his arms folded, and bottom lip protruding, he lifts his chin up high. And then he lowers his head like a bull, breathing fiercely through his nostrils.

Lowering his arms, his fists are tightly clenched at his sides. He forces his hands to relax. He does not attack. It takes a supreme effort of will to keep his temper in check.

He stares upward, not speaking, and pushes against the tome at his back.

His eyes close.

He does not know whether to be in awe over Jedediah’s manipulation or run in abject terror.

Octavius is supposed to be the one who uses the spoken language to his advantage. He prides himself on his own intelligence.

And, perfect, feathered hair aside, this is far from the first time Jedediah has demonstrated he has intellect to match his good looks in that skull of his.

It is with some degree of trepidation he questions whether or not he likes having competition in this quarter, although, at the same moment, he’s positive he does. He likes it. Very much.

“This is your show, baby,” Jedediah adds. “Keep that frustration coming. But save it for the Huns. You can punch my lights out later.”

Octavius bites his bottom lip. _Never_. He lifts his chin, eyes stricken.

Something works behind Jedediah’s gaze. He blinks at Octavius’s reaction. Whatever he sees, he processes it, pleased. And then he is back to the business at hand. He lifts a finger to his lips.

Octavius’s mouth quirks automatically in response. He watches as Jedediah points to a distant row of enormous books several lengthy paces in front of the Huns.

If Octavius and Jedediah charge past a line of bookcases and power-climb to the top, they will still be well in front of Attila and his company, and more importantly, remain between them and Cecil, before they can stalk past them again.

Jedediah asks a question with his eyes.

Octavius glares for effect, and then nods.

They jump, landing on their feet, and race off.

* * *

_Only slightly later…_

Together they climb to the targeted bookshelf as stealthily as they can manage.

As they climb, Octavius cannot shake off an uneasy feeling of dread pooling in his stomach. He may be angry and frightened enough to hurl books at Huns, but he’s not so certain about Jedediah.

Octavius knows he has a killer instinct. Jedediah, on the other hand…

A shiver slithers up his spine.

He isn’t quite so certain. True, there were the guns in the beginning, but that wasn’t fury so much as fear.

Even Jedediah’s earlier rage has all but fizzled out. Disregarding his near hysterics over Lewis and Clark, he is prone to loud, sudden bursts of temper. Once he’s exploded into a thousand tiny Jedediah’s, for the most part, the fight tends to be over.

For their plan to work, the weighty books are literally going to have to fly from the shelf as though flung by much larger, unseen hands.

Despite Jedediah’s initial fury at the loss of the tomes, it hadn’t been a sustainable anger. Octavius cannot possibly imagine Jedediah being angry enough to hurl books if he truly thinks he is likely to damage them.

This is no time for gentleness or soft plops, or, really, a healthy respect for books at all. To diminish Jedediah’s protectiveness towards the tomes, Octavius is going to have to rile up his tiny, little scholarly-historian-librarian heart.

Feeling some of his earlier anger abate, he thinks quickly, formulating a plan, some ploy to rattle Jedediah and make him mean. At least mean and angry long enough to accomplish their goal.

Once at the top, Octavius swivels his head and breathes a sigh of relief. They must have set records with their mad dash.

After observing they have plenty of time to work with, he turns.

Grabbing Jedediah by the collar, he smashes their mouths together.

His stomach flutters despite himself.

Jedediah stills. He lets out a shocked noise, clasping Octavius by the arms. And then gloved fingers dig deeply into flesh, attempting to pry them both apart.

Octavius wraps an arm around Jedediah’s neck while his other hand slips beneath his Stetson to cradle the back of his skull. Fingers automatically tangle into hair — their favorite pastime — keeping Jedediah’s head drawn down and his mouth fully engaged in the kiss. He refuses to let go. His grip is like solid steel, annihilating any possibility of resistance.

Jedediah’s mouth opens to protest.

Having none of it, Octavius boldly deepens the kiss, plunging in, making it count. It could never be said he isn’t an opportunist.

Jedediah gasps when Octavius’s tongue caresses the inside of his mouth. The soft sound is like tinkling chimes to him.

It makes something inside him begin to hum.

And then…

Octavius should have thought this through more carefully, knowing now he may have seriously miscalculated.

Fondness wars with true intent.

He hadn’t been thinking. After two thousand years, he’d forgotten the difference between kissing for sport and kissing someone who truly matters to him. Consideration is involved. And, affection. They merge, getting tangled up in the heat of the moment.

Even now they smolder, igniting something foreign inside his belly.

And Jedediah tastes incredible. Of course, he would. Of course. He tastes like he smells. Intoxicating. Masculine and warm and clean and distinctively Jedediah.

He tastes like _home_.

Octavius angles his jaw to get an even better taste. Exasperated, he allows the hand at Jedediah’s neck to slide around to manually reposition Jedediah’s chin properly so Octavius can fall deeper into the kiss.

Of course, Jedediah is inept at this. Of course, he is. He is not quite as ancient as Octavius, but he is certainly old, perhaps even beyond his years in some ways, but impossibly young in others. The man cannot even embrace him properly.

It’s not entirely Jedediah’s fault, Octavius understands. He had help in this quarter — or — in this instance, he’s had a distinct lack of it.

Octavius blames Jedediah’s parents for caring more about themselves rather than allowing a talkative, inquisitive child an opportunity to thrive in a new environment by letting him be himself. To speak and play and interact with others his own age.

Had they grown up together, Octavius would have played with him. He would have stolen kisses at every conceivable opportunity.

He blames Jedediah’s preening teenage peers for looking past the quiet one, the forced introvert, as though something were wrong with him.

By the gods, he must have been a gorgeous youth with his nose half-buried in various books, the folds of his blue tunic accentuating his lithe, athletic form. And he would have been covered up more than most, for reasons. Bless him.

In his own time, had Octavius discovered him, once again, hiding out in the library, and at Jedediah’s warm, shy smile of greeting, he would have been so overcome by the sight of it that his younger self would have swept the tomes from the table and pounced, claiming him for the first time then and there.

Chairs would have broken. And, quite possibly the table, also.

Octavius isn’t responsible for the destruction of the Library of Alexandria, but he might have been if properly motivated.

He blames the superficial ones who couldn’t see past an injury, who gave Jedediah a wide berth, averting their gaze as he strode past. They wouldn’t know a kind soul if one came up and bit them.  

And the scarring would have served to convince Octavius that Jedediah hadn’t succumbed to his injuries. That he still breathed. That he lived, and was still with him.

And despite social taboos and customs, despite even the laws that governed Rome itself, Octavius would have defied those laws and _married_ him!

He was the bleeding emperor and he would have wielded his gift for oratory, and his power and influence to change hearts and minds, and eventually even the laws.

Jedediah may be inept, but it isn’t a stumbling block, it can be remedied. This is a lesson Octavius can teach.

He is treated to a sharp, thrilling scrape of stubble as it brushes across his skin when Jedediah attempts to protest again.

Attempting to give Octavius an earful, Jedediah moves his lips, accidentally swiping his tongue against Octavius’s teeth and into his mouth.

They both jump at the contact.

Octavius gasps, making a startled sound, as energy surges through his veins, lighting him up from the inside out.

And there is a low, rumbling groan coming from his throat. This accidental stroking of tongues is more stimulating than even the most skilled courtesan applying their trade could have instigated between them.

It serves to remind Octavius who he’s with.

He wraps his arms around Jedediah’s shoulders, sliding his hands down his back, kissing him in earnest.

Tempering himself, he caresses Jedediah’s tongue, capturing it, sucking it. Exploring him. Gentle instead of savage. Giving instead of taking. Making love with his mouth.

Heat pools in his belly, long-suppressed lust making Octavius’s skin tingle and tighten.

Knowing he should stop, but desiring even more intimacy, he trails his fingertips down Jedediah’s spine, to the small of his back, pulling him closer, bringing their hips into contact, bumping them together.

Light flashes behind his eyes and he shudders with a sharp buck, primal and possessive, desiring union, involuntarily thrusting against that sweet, sweet pressure, pressing himself ever closer, grinding their hips.

Jedediah yelps into his mouth. He clings, gloved fingers digging painfully into his arms at the sharp thrust. His body responds to him with a shiver. And, wonders of all wonders, there is an awakening, an answering swelling pressing against his hip.

With a shuddering gasp, Jedediah startles.

He squeaks into Octavius’s mouth and makes tiny, trapped noises in the back of his throat.

Struggling, he pushes against Octavius’s breastplate. The sounds he’s making are not arousing in the slightest. They are terrible. Heartbreaking.

Octavius’s eyes snap open.

Jedediah is panicking. His gloved hands shoot out, clawing at the air as though drowning.

The reaction is not a ploy this time — if it ever was — but distressed recall. Octavius feels it in the tension in his shoulders, and the way his muscles rapidly bunch and unbunch. He’s beginning to shake.

The hardness at Octavius’s hip vanishes completely.

Jedediah is scared to death.

Octavius will never allow such a fate to befall him again. He would sooner take Jedediah’s place. Internally, he makes his thoughts into a fervent vow, an edict. Never, never, never again. As long as he lives. And even beyond that if he can manage it.

Instantly, he loses his ardor and tears his mouth free with a decided pop.

Jedediah begins to sag —almost — but not quite relaxing into him. It’s more of a collapse.

Their foreheads bump, knocking Jedediah’s ridiculous hat askew, and poking Octavius in the eye.

Trembling, Octavius cannot think. Cannot breathe. Forgets to breathe. He’s seeing stars.

Worlds are exploding into existence, entire civilizations being formed inside his breast.

Jedediah’s breath explodes out of him in a rush as he clumsily pulls out of Octavius’s grasp.

He gasps, coughs, chokes, and stumbles back in shock. Octavius does, likewise.

Even the choking Jedediah does quietly to keep Octavius unnoticed and protected.

After the coughing fit subsides, Jedediah sputters. Breath hitching, his cheeks are a fiery red, and his blue eyes glitter the brilliance of a thousand tiny stars.

There’s a universe in his gaze.

Going rigid, he squeezes his eyes shut and drops his forehead into one palm, covering his mouth with the other, breathing through his nose.

Panting, Octavius licks his lips, tasting Jedediah there. In shock, he gazes blankly at his friend.

Concerned by the panic attack, he lifts his palm, desiring to help.

“Are you alright?”

Now wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Jedediah gingerly dabs at his lips with a gloved finger. The motions are jerky. He looks puzzled as though he never considered they could be used for any purpose other than eating and talking.

Pulling his hand back, he stares wordlessly at his fingertips as though in communion, seeking answers.

He glances up. His open expression closes and he throws up his arms. Drops them.

“Am I alright? You just frenched the _hell_ outta me for cryin’ out loud!” That is very definitely a whine. “No, I ain't alright! Dagnabit!"

He kicks at invisible dust on the bookshelf and rounds on Octavius.

“ _You_!” he says low, leveling a finger. Blue eyes — the color of a tumultuous sky — flicker, capturing Octavius’s gaze.

And then there’s the _exploding sun_ anger Octavius has been striving to ignite. It looks like he may have just frenched the hell _into_ him.

Octavius grins brightly.

Mission accomplished.

“ _You!”_ Jedediah’s tone sharpens with a hint of a growl. “You’re the most…” His hands ball into trembling fists. “Grabbin’est, huggin’est, kissin’est man. Stop kissin’ me!”

He half-windmills his arms to keep Octavius’s amorous advances at bay, making distinct, albeit quiet, screaming noises in the back of his throat.

Octavius is struck by the notion that he is not the only feisty one in this relationship. He has some very definite competition in this quarter as well.

He grins a lopsided, goofy grin, tilting his head, gaze twinkling, going cow-eyed.

He likes this spirited Jedediah. A lot. So lively and engaging. Not that he doesn't adore the kinder, gentler one. However, rouse his ire and —

Wow.

“No. Wait. See, here,” Jedediah continues his rant, fired up. “Now you’ve really gone and done it. You’ve done gone and lost your kissin’ privileges, Octameter!”

Jedediah coughs, rears back, and swats at him, making it a proper edict.

“Revoked!”

He swats at him again.

“Bad, Ockie!”

He keeps swatting at him.

“Bad! Bad!”

_Swat._

“You see this here?” Jedediah waves a hand down the length of his body. “This ain’t no kissin’ booth!”

_Swat._

Octavius inches back several paces, preparing to turn on his heel and run.

Noticing, Jedediah narrows his eyes, and shouts, “Get back here! I ain’t through with you!”

That went well.

Octavius obeys. Panting and coughing and feeling lightheaded, he dodges out of the way of several more swats.

When Jedediah gets flustered, not only does his accent thicken, but he gets incredibly, substantially bossier. And his aim worsens. At least he isn’t chasing him around on the bookshelf. Yet.

He is still a treasure. Albeit, an increasingly unruly treasure.

Octavius does not strike back. This may be a sign of personal growth. Or lack of oxygen to the brain. He’s still seeing stars.

Perhaps it is strategically unwise to catch that swatting hand and nuzzle it against his cheek or kiss the gloved palm. He is still tempted.

Instead, he stands his ground, hand on his forehead, as though taking his own temperature. He sways, but manages to lift his chin.

“Dearest,” he begins patiently. “ _That_ would imply that I had been given this privilege to begin with. Choose your battles, my love, choose your battles,” he reminds, unaffected.

Jedediah’s brow creases in perplexity. And then his eyes widen with surprise. Sincere, and vulnerable and completely open again. The universe returns. Octavius thinks that if he squints, he is just able to connect the dots to brand new constellations.

This expression is so unlike any he's seen Jedediah wear before, uncertain and afraid. Not to mention shy and glowing with embarrassment. The fiery hue returns to his face.

The sight startles Octavius. Biting the inside of his lip, he realizes what he’s said. He hadn’t intended to use that particular endearment.

Still attempting to get oxygen flowing back to his brain, he continues taking deep, gulping breaths. He stumbles back.

His heart swells despite his initial intentions.

Nevertheless, Octavius blows out a kiss and sidles — more like, stumbles — away.

“Save it for the Huns, my pet.”

Jedediah breathes in a shuddering gasp, the line of his mouth curving sharply down. And then he loses all expression, except for his eyes.

The universe inside them shatters.

His throat works, bobbing up and down.

Mouth thinning, he lowers his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

When he looks up through his lashes, there is a flash of lightning his gaze. The dangerous kind. It sizzles and is alive.

He seethes.

“I’m goin’ ta’ kill you!”

Well. Octavius wanted to awaken his killer instincts.

He turns, with a Roman smirk, his eyes hooded and mouth quirking. He doesn't even make it two paces before he stops walking.

Brow crinkling, he turns back, realizing that more than just the universe has shattered.

The worlds created inside his own breast are no longer able to sustain life. Civilizations are crumbling.

He’s made a very serious misstep. His vision blurs.

Chin quivering, he notices Jedediah’s rumpled attire. Shaking his head, he clicks his tongue and reaches up to straighten Jedediah’s collar and smooth down the wrinkles in his shirt in apology.

His gaze gentles, turning wistful.

“Pity you’re married,” he murmurs. “He is unworthy of you.”

Jedediah repeatedly smacks at Octavius’s fingers and balls his hands into shaking fists, whisper-shouting at the ceiling. “I ain’t married!”

Octavius fusses and goes back to fixing the skewed neckerchief.

“Hush,” he says, serious, and smacks his hand. “You will be presentable. Should we be rushing headlong toward our deaths, I would have you look regal. As befits your station.”

Jedediah’s gaze smolders, but not with desire. That is, unless that desire involves a red-hot poker.

He stands with his arms folded over his chest, one hip cocked, grim-faced and biting his lip while Octavius fiddles with his neckerchief.

“Now listen here, you,” he rants, staring unblinkingly at the Huns smashing their way closer. “You just watch your step, mister. I plan on livin’ just ta’ spite ya. And in case there’s any doubt, you ain’t goin’ anywhere. This ain’t over! I’m gonna spend the rest of my days makin’ ya pay for tryin’ to swallow my dang tongue. Swappin’ spit and the like. I ain’t never!”

Octavius nuzzles his cheek against Jedediah’s shoulder in quiet apology, silently begging forgiveness. Ardently, he attempts to explain through touch that the kiss and everything that followed was heartfelt and true. Real. Despite initial intentions. And more importantly, despite his inability to keep his Roman mouth shut.

He had not meant cruelty in any form.

“I was a fool.”

Jedediah shrugs him off, expression sour. He turns and jabs his finger at Octavius. His jaw is firmly set, his eyes looking through him.

“You better believe I’m gettin’ my crocodile rodeo now, after this. And my cheetah rodeo and my ostrich roundup and anything else I dad-blame _want_!”

Octavius brushes Jedediah's words aside. He is beginning to see this may, in fact, be true. There is precedent. He does have tendencies in regards to allowing those close to him to influence and sway his decisions.

“Yes. Within reason. And as long as I am with you.”

Brow crinkling, Jedediah frowns and makes eye contact. His blue eyes soften, but not too much.

Octavius lightly kisses the tip of his shoulder, inhaling his clean, warm scent. His hand rests on Jedediah’s chest, feeling definition beneath flimsy fabric.

“My intention is to woo you. Court you,” he says, setting parameters. “Would you be amenable?”

Jedediah jerks away, batting at Octavius with both hands.

“No!”

“I could escort you through Rome? Fulfill your desire for travel? We could climb trees together. It is glorious in the orchards this time of year. Your people are welcome, also. Or, if you so desire, I could assemble a chariot race. For you. Or... _anything_ you wish. I have a bed. Large enough for two,” he adds hopefully, in a provocative tone. “No one else is invited. Only you. We could continue where we left off.”

“ _Hell, no!_ ”

_Blast! Foiled!_

“I wish to remove your clothing.”

Irate, Jedediah twists the collar of his blue, button-down shirt, bunching it up at his throat with his fist. He tightly grips the flimsy fabric at his stomach with the other hand, effectively locking the shirt closed, denying Octavius access.

“Yeah? Keep wishin’! Ain’t happening, pal.”

_Jupiter, help him._

Octavius may or may not have tied his fate to a maniac. And not even a sex-starved maniac, at that, but the American equivalent of a sexual camel!

Jedediah is going to present a challenge.

“So, friends, then?”

Jedediah snarls at him. Actually snarls. With bared teeth and spittle and gums showing.

He may not have classical features or a fine, delicate, androgynous comeliness, but Jedediah may be the most beautiful man Octavius has ever met. He is enchanting.

He nods sagely. “Friends.”

“I want ta’ shoot ya out of a cannon!”

“That could be arranged.” Possibly. Maybe. Probably not.

“So’ins ya land on your head! _While_ you’re wearin’ pants. Without your highfalutin helmet!”

“You’ve destroyed my helmet already,” Octavius reminds helpfully, because it’s true. “And with a great deal of enthusiasm, I might add. Although, I’d prefer your assistance slipping on the pants. I fear our kiss has unbalanced me.” He drops the timbre of his voice. “I may fall over if you are not there to properly guide me in.”

“I oughta shoot ya in the eye! Right in your dad-gum eye!”

Octavius sighs and moves back, pulling Jedediah along by the elbow.

“Yes, yes. Come along, my little rage nugget.”

Leaning away from Octavius, Jedediah indignantly stomps up and down, following behind him.

“I ain’t little!”

Octavius pauses, noting that Jedediah does not deny any other portion of his declaration. He is about to scoff when he recalls the accidental groping incident. His eyes bulge. He’s likely never going to recover from that discovery.

“No.” He breathes deep and lifts his chin. Despite the risk of their quite imminent discovery and eventual demise, he relaxes a fraction and squeezes Jedediah’s wrist affectionately. “No, you’re not.”

Octavius closes his eyes. He breathes slowly, marshaling his strength for what is to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I do appreciate your continued patience and I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> I wish to thank my beta reader, the ever-amazing [CuriousDinosaur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur). We ran a marathon together with this fic. Her inspired insight and her tendency to bombard me with some truly ** cough, cough, cough ** motivational Jedtavius chats lit a fire under me. Our boys are growing into the movie versions of themselves. This author writes some truly amazing "Night at the Museum" fanfiction. If you enjoy her work, please show her some love.
> 
> Also, I would direct your attention to the previous chapter as some truly breathtaking and beautiful fan art was made for me. And I am still giddy. You should definitely check it out. You will be glad you did. The artist is [rimuray.](http://rimuray.tumblr.com/) Rimuray is also [here ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rimuray/pseuds/Rimuray) on AO3. Thank you so, so much! I am stunned, humbled and honored. And extremely proud. Beautiful. Simply beautiful.  
> The artist's original post can be found [here.](http://rimuray.tumblr.com/post/138814663481/i-made-a-little-comic-about-a-beautiful-jedtavius) If you like the artist's work, please show them some love! <333


	14. All Fired Up!, Part 2

* * *

_Only slightly later…_

Trailing behind Octavius, Jedediah spits out nonsensical near-curses, the rural flavor of his accent thickened and rough.

He jerks his elbow free from Octavius’s grip.

Octavius only has time to frown and then they are scrambling forward, attempting to beat the other in order to get into their desired position directly behind the books on the top shelf.

A touch faster, Octavius takes the outside, closest to the oncoming Huns.

Jedediah doesn’t even attempt to skirt around him, or try to reason with him. Instead, he shoves him over to the far side with brute force, taking Octavius’s place.

Having none of it, Octavius balls his hands into fists and opens his mouth to protest, but Jedediah gives him a flat look.

He lifts a blue-sleeved arm and points his index finger. No words. Simply one finger.

Seeing the flush of anger rising in Jedediah’s cheeks, Octavius wisely chooses to close his mouth. He chews on his bottom lip a moment, feeling somewhat awkward. And if truth were told, bereft. Alone. Possibly for the first time since waking up, trapped in this museum.

Only. He will never apologize for their kiss. Never.

The kiss was perfect. A combination of heated fumbling and determined desperation. Passionate. His attraction toward Jedediah has been building for a very long time. Desire followed.

Jedediah’s own response had been unexpected. It might only be Octavius’s biased imagination, but for a moment, Jedediah seemed to stop protesting and find pleasure in their shared intimacy.

He could have sworn he felt Jedediah lean into it, relaxing against him before the sharp buck of hips. It was only after Jedediah lost his breath that he panicked.

If Octavius could change anything, it would have been his behavior directly following the kiss. Neither filled with the tenderness of a lover or affable, like that of a friendly competitor, words and deeds were laced with cruelty and spite. He had already riled Jedediah, and hadn't needed to go that far, so he does not fully understand why he did it.

And now, after listening to so much excited chatter and confidences, the silence is unnatural and almost too painful to bear.

His heart thrums in a broken rhythm.

Distracting himself from the ache in his chest, Octavius quickly scans his surroundings.

His lips twist at how vulnerable they truly are.

And little.

For Octavius, this revelation has never quite sunk in. Not fully. Not the way it has with Jedediah.

Octavius has had moments where their smallness has been a hindrance, certainly. Where it’s been acknowledged, yes. Mostly in the company of Jedediah, of course. He’s always known they've had certain limitations.

This is his life; he adjusted.

Now his mind races with dreadful thoughts. All the dreadful thoughts. Every terrible thing that could happen, not to only them, but to their people should they be discovered. Which is precisely what landed him in this fix. Dwelling. Overthinking. Giving into fear.

He stops. Closes his eyes.

They stand, backs against the wall as the Huns continue their destructive approach.

Pulse roaring in his ears, his eyes snap open and a snarl curves his lips.

With one final glance at his friend, he braces himself against the bookcase. He rears back with both legs and kicks the first book from the shelf.

The book tumbles over the side with a loud _smack_.

Attila halts and spreads his arms out, and the Huns behind him stop dead in their tracks.

Octavius lets out an uneven breath. It’s Jedediah’s turn. He prays he’s provoked him enough.

At first there’s nothing. And then he hears a strange, feral, whining sound. He jerks his head.

Jedediah braces his back against the wall. Grimacing, the veins in his neck bulging, he rears up and kicks out.

The book goes airborne. The tome’s pages fan as its spine smashes against the bookcase in front of them. Gravity pulls it down with a hard _crack_.

The Huns flinch back.

Octavius marvels, gaping.

Jedediah whips his head, looking directly at him.

Lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes, but there is not a shred of humor or a twinkling spark of come upmanship in his gaze.

There is nothing.

His skin is firmly pinched and he is glaring. Fists tightly clenched, he looks ready to kill.

The target of this murderous rage is all too obvious.

Octavius gulps.

Brow crinkling, he thinks Jedediah may have rounded the corner past fuming, hurtled several paces beyond seething, took a flying leap over livid, and dived headlong into infuriated bloodlust.

Octavius may have awoken a sleeping giant.

Jedediah’s mouth is set in a furious line, he jerks his chin.

_Come on._

Uh oh.

Octavius shakes himself.

They rapidly move down.

Once again, Octavius makes an attempt to place himself on the outside row.

Jedediah bars his path.

Octavius tries to shoulder his way past in an attempt to make amends. He is halted by an outflung arm, caught, and propelled backward.

He stumbles to his knees and instantly pops up, modestly pulling his pteruges down over his thighs.

“Ain’t happenin’, kemosabe. Git! Shoo!”

Octavius lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“At least you’re still speaking to me.”

Jedediah harrumphs.

They kick and move down.

“And here I thought we’d warmed up to one another rather well,” Octavius says, grateful for even this small acknowledgement.

He rears back and shoves the next book from the shelf, watching as the Huns take a collective step back, clutching each other like frightened children.

“Warm?” Jedediah breathes raggedly from exertion, wild-eyed. “You want warm? I’ll give you warm! How’s about _this_?”

Jedediah lets out a growl that is low, angry, and vicious. He rears back, swinging both his legs and kicks the next book off the shelf. This tome, too, goes flying like the first, smacking hard against the shelving unit in front of them.

The Huns shriek, clinging onto Attila like he is their mother.

“I’m hoppin’ mad at you!” Jedediah shouts, bouncing up and down to fully illustrate his point.

“Really?” Octavius asks, tempting fate and keeping the rage in the forefront of Jedediah’s mind. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Jedediah’s mouth works and twists, still jumping up and down. Stomping.

“Bite my big toe!”

They hustle, moving down the row.

These tomes are much thicker. Larger. They still shake violently, bobbing up and down on the shelf, with his and Jedediah’s efforts to dislodge them.

The books are propelled forward, tumbling over the side.

They scramble over to the next, much larger tomes in the row.

Octavius’s head, shoulders, and the top part of his back are pressed hard against the wall behind him, the metal of his armor cutting into his neck and hips. He hunches over awkwardly, abdominal muscles on fire and screaming.

Leg muscles spasming and quivering from the strain, he kicks, making a labored noise in the back of his throat.

The book is propelled forward. Not as far or as vicious as Jedediah’s previous kicks. However, it is still quite impressive considering the size of the monstrous tome. He considers it a win.

“Dad-blame sneaky Roman wiles!” Jedediah continues ranting, eyes hot and hard. Somehow, despite his fury, his battle cry does not echo.

He kicks the next enormous tome, and Attila and his men jerk their whole bodies sideways, jumping backward as the weighty book goes hurtling off the shelf.

Its spine rips.

The Huns scream, their tones are several octaves too high.

Moving down, Octavius and Jedediah pick up even more speed.

Octavius is gasping. He sticks his tongue out in concentration, rears back and kicks with a loud grunt.

“I admit I may have been overzealous. Bold, even. Inconsiderate.”

“You’re a lot of things, alright.” Jedediah rears back, veins in his neck bulging. “Grabby!” He braces himself. “Sneaky!” He pushes back with both his legs. “Arrogant!” He kicks. “Just like your adopted daddy!”

Offended, not only by the comparison, but at the sharp criticism of his great uncle and adoptive father, Octavius narrows his eyes. Acid claws at the back of his throat. His mouth twists into a sneer.

“He was a great man! Unrivaled. A visionary. How _dare_ you speak of him! You will not!” he hisses, making it an edict. His brow pulls into a tight scowl. “That is unless you wish me to bring up your own parents’ shortcomings!”

Anger dances along his nerve endings. He rears back and kicks.

The book smashes against the bookcase in front of them.

Octavius nods to himself. Finally.

“ _What_ shortcomings?” Jedediah asks incredulously, chest heaving. “My folks were remarkable, God-fearing folk!” He kicks, sending the next tome flying to meet its brethren.

Octavius snorts, rears back, and kicks.

“Remarkable, you say? What’s remarkable is that you survived past the age of twelve! What kind of parent allows their child to scale up the sides of mountains unsupervised?”

The tiny muscles around Jedediah’s eyes go rigid.

“I was a grown man!”

_Kick._

On a roll, Octavius ignores Jedediah’s claim. He kicks out and continues, “What kind of parent does not encourage their son to socialize?”

“The busy, tryin’-to-raise-a-family-and-survive kind! Life wasn’t a stroll through the posies, ya know. They had mouths ta’ feed. D’ya know how many brothers and sisters I had?” Jedediah rounds on Octavius. “Too many, that’s how many!”

Octavius pauses, and whips his head around, inquiry in his gaze.

Jedediah loses his anger for a moment and answers the unspoken question.

“ _And you, be ye fruitful, and multiply; bring forth abundantly in the earth, and multiply therein.”_ His mouth thins. “Momma took the Scriptures ta’ heart.”

The barking Hun from earlier shoulders his way past his companions. Past Attila, who makes a grab for him and misses.

The Hun tilts his head, narrowed-eyed and suspicious.

Octavius turns and wraps his arms around Jedediah. They slide down into a sitting position, hunkering close. Close enough that Octavius can feel the heat of Jedediah’s body as they keep their heads drawn down.

His palm finds Jedediah’s face, the gesture a combination of a sideways embrace and a caress. All he gets is the sharp prick of stubble stabbing the pads of his fingertips.

If these are their last moments together, he wishes for them to make peace.

Exasperated, Jedediah pulls a face. Squeezing his eyes shut, he lets out a ragged breath. He yanks the hand down and away from his cheek, lifting a stiff finger up in warning.

Between the line of books, Octavius looks up through his lashes as the barker takes another step forward, still cocking his head from side to side.

A hard line forms between the giant’s brow.

Jedediah moves cautiously and slowly glides his gloved fingers to cover the metal bracers on Octavius’s wrist so they do not reflect light.

Their quiet, ragged breaths mingle, causing a shiver to ghost over Octavius’s skin.

The suspicious Hun takes another step toward them, gaze narrowed.

Octavius closes his eyes, bracing himself for the books in front of them to be torn from the shelf, revealing them as the culprits at last.

All at once, there is a sharp _clacking, clattering_ sound and sparks fly.

As though summoned, fire shoots from the metal grate high above.

The barker backs up, ducking, alarmed as the rest of the startled Huns let out a scream of terror and stumble backward toward the door.

Attila makes large, sweeping arm gestures for the barker to follow.

He does, edging backward. With one more suspicious glance, he turns on his heels for the door.

After several heartbeats, Cecil emerges, crawling from his hiding place on all fours.

He gets roughly to his feet and turns in a full circle. Mouth gaping, he surveys the damage and lets out a distressed sound.

Peering up, he squints, curious.

He lifts a hand toward the tome Octavius and Jedediah are behind.

A strange, haunting cry echoes from the grate. More sparks fly.

Recoiling, Cecil flinches and trips over the books on the floor. He wobbles back unevenly, arms outstretched for balance.

Whipping his head toward freedom, he makes a beeline for the door and dashes off.

Octavius and Jedediah raise their heads, peering up.

“That’s my girl!” Jedediah shouts.

Sweet Pea whinnies from the grate. She lifts her broad head in self importance, rears up on her hind legs, forelegs kicking. She lands, fire flashing from her hooves.

Having made her point, the hellbeast snorts and flicks her tail. She tosses her head, all sass. And then she trots back to obediently lie down and behave.

Slack jawed, Octavius blinks several times in rapid succession.

“A hellbeast, indeed,” he murmurs in awe.

After a beat, he swivels his head, resuming his and Jedediah's heated discourse.

“How many?”

Jedediah whips his head to gawk at him.

“Huh?” he asks eloquently, brows knit together.

“Your parents. How many children did they have?”

Jedediah squints, jaw set and eyes instantly hard. He appears like he's going to keep the information to himself, but then relents.

“Fourteen.”

Octavius’s eyes bulge from their sockets. Fourteen Jedediahs. And he can barely survive the one.

Disentangling himself from Octavius’s grip, Jedediah stands up.

Temper momentarily abated, he speaks out of the side of his mouth.

“We kept momma runnin’ ragged. It’s why I sent most of my earnings back home. To help feed ‘em all. Get ‘em schooled up proper. The whole kit-and-caboodle.”

Octavius slowly rises to his feet. Startled, he asks, “You did?”

“ _My_ folks taught me to look out for my own. Unlike _yours_. What did Julius Caesar ever teach you?” Jedediah pauses, fury back in his tone. “Besides lookin’ out for number one. That and taking whatever the hell ya dad-gum want, whenever the hell ya dad-gum want it!"

Octavius lifts his chin, eyes glittering. He raises two fingers.

“Two words. Money scandal.”

Folding his arms loosely over his chest, he calmly watches Jedediah stomp up and down.

“Dagnabit!” Jedediah balls his hands into fists. “That was private!”

“And you certainly didn’t inherit your sexual drive from your mother!”

“Donchu be makin’ disparagin’ remarks about my momma! My momma was a saint!”

Cecil and the Huns may have fled the library, but that doesn’t stop him from rearing back and kicking the book directly in front of him.

The tome soars, smacking against the nearest bookcase.

“Jedediah,” Octavius begins reasonably, as though speaking to a child, “if she was as much a beacon of virtue and light as you claim, there would have been _no_ money scandal.”

Jedediah rounds.

“That was all my daddy! And he made a mistake!”

“Which you spent the rest of your life paying for!” Octavius shouts back, incensed. He jabs his finger at Jedediah. “You!” He sweeps his hand imperiously to the side. “Not _him_!” He jabs his finger again. “Don’t deny it!”

“At least my daddy didn’t groom me to be this...this…” Jedediah waves his arms, at a loss for words. “This selfish person!”

Octavius gasps, immediately deflating. The fight abruptly leaves him. His brain locks, unable to come up with anything to defend himself with. _Because it’s true._ He reels back from the verbal wallop as though he’d been physically assaulted.

Jedediah, who was glaring at his next book, suddenly rounds back on Octavius.

He has Octavius netted and trapped within his angry gaze. A gloved hand comes up to roughly scrub at his mouth, and Octavius feels another pang of regret.

Folding his arms tightly, Jedediah demands, “Did I invite you?”

Quietly, Octavius replies, “No.”

“You know how I feel about being manhandled!” Jedediah shouts, a broken edge to his voice. “You know _why_!” He stabs his finger at Octavius. “You know it! You _know_! You’re the only one I ever told!”

Octavius casts his eyes down.

He crosses his arms over his chest as though that alone could somehow protect his heart. It gives a strange, funny little lurch. He brings his gaze up.

“Yes.”

“You know and ya did it anyway!”

“Yes.”

Jedediah’s eyes soften at Octavius’s honesty, but hurt still remains in every line of his face.

Stricken, responding to the pain he’s caused in return, he swallows, shaking his head.

“Dagnabit!” He kicks invisible dust. “I swear, Octavius. You can be such a…loving, caring, giving person. But then you go all Roman on me and it all goes flying out the window!”

Octavius half-heartedly kicks a tome. It drops with a soft _plop_.

He rubs his forehead, chin quivering. Pacing, he sets his hands on his waist. Face grim, he lowers his head back down.

His heart resumes its broken rhythm.

He’s down, laid low, wanting nothing more than to drop and curl into a ball so Jedediah can finish by kicking him over and over again. It’s only what he deserves.

“I can just imagine you as this sweet-faced, good-natured, little kid. Lookin’ all cute in your teeny, tiny toga, laughing and playing outside in this great big, giant Roman courtyard. You're happy!

“And then your grandmama and Caesar up and decide ta’ get their hooks into you. Condition you into...into this...this... _other person_. He’s mean, and he’s cynical, and he's spiteful, and he’s jaded. And he takes without asking because that’s what he’s been _shown_ to do! It’s what he’s been taught!”

He points. “But I still see the other you. And he’s _good_. He’s silly, and he’s sweet, and he’s funny, and he’s kind. He’s in there, Octy, and I like him. A lot. I see him peeking out at me from the corners of your eyes!”

Jedediah takes off his hat and repeatedly smacks Octavius on the arm with it.

They are solid blows with a bit of scraping knuckle, rocking Octavius back a step.

He perks up, suddenly brightening, instantly impervious to the strikes.

He tilts his head, a goofy grin overtaking his features and softening his eyes. There’s a quick flash of white teeth and a lopsided smile as energy prickles his skin. And then, abruptly. He's shy.

Hands behind his back, he rocks back and forth on his heels a little.

“You think I’m cute?”

Jedediah’s eyes bulge and he flings his arms out wide. His hands clench into tight, trembling fists, bunching up the brim of his Stetson. He rears back and smacks him again and again with it.

“This is all ya got from what I said? Huh? _This_ is what you came away with?”

Octavius ducks, making himself as small a target as possible, shielding himself with his arm as Jedediah continues smacking and ranting at him.

Jedediah stops smacking Octavius and clicks his tongue. “And _cute_? When did I say you were cute? I ain’t never said you were cute! And it wouldn’t be the point here anyways, amigo, even if I did!”

Vexed, he bounces up and down, a cherry red blush scorching his skin, trailing down his neck.

He screams.

Rearing back, he kicks the next tome, and then all but climbs its cover, bristling when it doesn't budge, clinging to its pages like a high strung cat.

Octavius peers up.

“Please come down.”

“That’s a big _hell_ to the _no_ , buckeroo! You ain’t gettin’ me ta’ come down! There ain’t nothin’ you can do or say ta’ make that happen, kemosabe! They’ll find me here! Fifty years from now! A teeny, tiny skeleton! Still _danglin’_ away!”

Octavius cannot help it. He bursts out laughing at the mental image.

“Steady, my friend. You are taking this entirely out of proportion. It’s perfectly alright if you find me cute. I find you equally so.”

“Hold it a sec! Stop puttin’ words in my mouth! And don't be callin’ me cute! I ain't cute! Doggone it, I will whup your backside, I swear I will!”

“You would have to come down first,” Octavius counters reasonably.

“No!”

A flicker of heat passes through Octavius as he continues gazing up, a purely biological reaction to Jedediah’s form dangling high above, suspended sideways, like he is. Crouched on all fours.

“I love your spirit. This liveliness suits you. It brings out the colors in your eyes.”

He nods to himself in remembrance.

The incandescence of blues and whites are rimmed and painted with chips and swirls of sapphire and hints of turquoise. All very alluring. Startling. Vivid. Hypnotic.

“Extremely attractive. I would have you,” he whispers breathlessly. “In this way and in every way that you are. This unchecked passion.” His eyes rove, nails biting into palms. “I would exhaust it from you.”

Jedediah screams again. He drops down from the book, stumbles backward, but does not fall over on his rump. He immediately rights himself, backs up a step, rears back, and kicks the tome.

It does not budge.

He stops screaming to cover his eyes with clenched fists. Head bowed, his hands are twitching.

Octavius backs up several paces, uncertain. He may have gone too far. Again. He is truly afraid of the next outburst and what it will mean. Jedediah may very well kill him.

Fingers flexing, still bunching the material of his Stetson, Jedediah points with his hat.

“That's it! You and I are havin’ a come ta’ Jesus meetin’!”

Octavius rocks back on his heels, respectful and contrite. Attentive.

“I’ll make the acquaintance of anyone you wish,” he murmurs earnestly. He lifts a finger. “Would you have me bring a covered dish to the engagement? I could offer a sampling of olive oil, barley, and wine. As well as exotic spices, and an assortment of fine meats.”

Jedediah blinks owlishly and tilts his head to the side.

He squints. Stutters. Sputters. Blusters.

Skin around his eyes crinkles with good humor. His breath hitches with barely suppressed laughter.

The line of his mouth trembles, breath beginning to rhythmically puff out from his nose.

Covering his mouth with a gloved palm, he casts his gaze down. He closes his eyes. His whole body vibrates with mirth.

Octavius blinks at the merriment, confused, but he loves seeing it. He welcomes the abrupt change of mood, happy to be its cause even if he doesn’t fully understand the reason. If Jedediah were not so vexed with him, he could simply ask and be rewarded with a patient reply. He misses it already. Misses _him_.

Despair settles inside his heart.

He clutches a hand to his breastplate and casts his eyes down as his vision begins to blur.

Unable to stop himself, he lifts his gaze and blurts out, “I’ll not apologize for kissing you, Jedediah. Only for the manner in which I expressed myself afterwards. I blundered. Badly. I know this. And I wholeheartedly regret it.

“I regret even more that I startled you. I know your reservations with touch. They are valid and I respect them. I should have taken more care. Prepared you in some way. I betrayed your trust in me.” He grimaces, shaking his head. “What I did was inexcusable.”

Surprised, Jedediah opens his eyes and raises his gaze from the ground. He lets out a steadying breath.

Octavius watches as Jedediah slowly puts on his hat. His hands grip his belt. He stands, one hip cocked, watching him warily.

Swallowing, Octavius lets himself exhale, but remains where he stands.

Jedediah lowers his hands, still flexing his gloved fingers, and rests them on his waist.

Octavius’s own fingers twitch, wishing to step forward and take both of those hands in his. Lift them to his breast and cover them with his palms. Intertwine them. Press them to his lips. Kiss the fingertips. Also a strategically unwise maneuver under the circumstances considering he has lost a friend.

He cannot deny he is still tempted, wishing to peel back those damnable gloves and uncover the skin underneath. Wishing he hadn’t blundered so badly.

Everything around him feels chilled. Dead and dying.

He casts his gaze back down, giving Jedediah the time he requires to calm down. Allow him to stomp away and move on with his life.

His breath hitches. His throat tightens and his eyes burn.

Everything in him is screaming.

He catches movement from the corner of his eyes. Jedediah with his eyes too bright and his cheeks flushed. He’s bouncing up and down, flailing, making a grieving sound. And then he charges forward, hurling himself in Octavius’s direction.

Flinching back, Octavius is certain Jedediah has changed his mind about killing him.

He starts, stumbles back from the flying tackle, realizing he’s trapped within the confines of arms made of solid steel.

The chill in the air is abruptly gone as Octavius is enveloped in warmth.

Stunned mute, he can only blink as emotion prickles the back of his throat.

And then Octavius’s brain catches up with events.

Jedediah isn’t killing him. He’s initiating contact.

Octavius feels Jedediah's strength. His warmth. Somehow he understands that in this embrace, Jedediah is in control, having all the power.

He stills.

They are both tense, testing these rough waters. Octavius behaves himself, biting his lip. He will not overstep, remaining respectful, and quiet, letting the embrace happen, allowing it to lead where it will.

After a long moment their bodies begin to relax, if only slightly. He can feel Jedediah’s ribs expand and contract against his breastplate as he breathes far too rapidly. If his armor was not separating them, he might be able to feel the accelerated beat of a heart threatening to pound its way free from Jedediah’s chest.

They are still standing, Jedediah squeezing the life from him, embracing him for all he's worth.

“I may be so mad at you I could spit right now. But I done told you I’ll fight tooth and nail ta’ keep what's mine,” he says, his voice low and fierce. “And make no mistake. You're my friend, Ockie.”

Octavius trembles.

_Ockie_.

Such a ridiculous sounding name.

Octavius adores it.

_Ockie. Octy. Oct. ‘Tavius._

They are all forms of his name with varying degrees of Octavius’s personality behind it. Each moniker is precious, fulfilling a specific purpose.

They mean everything. They _are_ everything.

Grateful, he clutches back. Fingers dig into smooth leather, alternating between affectionate caresses and painful grips fueled by desperation.

His hands glide up, tickled by soft hairs from a tousled blond mop. He squeezes the back of Jedediah’s neck, digs into fabric, both massaging and clutching far too tightly at the same time. His thumb strokes back and forth, brushing against baby fine, downy hairs at the base of Jedediah’s neck.

He nods once at Jedediah’s declaration of friendship. His throat catches, clicks.

“And you're mine,” he whispers unevenly.

Jedediah sighs softly. Octavius feels the rim of the black Stetson brush against his hair as Jedediah turns his head. Octavius wishes he could turn his, wishes he could look into Jedediah’s eyes. He remains facing forward.

They stay quiet for another long moment. Then, he feels Jedediah’s throat work against his shoulder before he speaks again.

“I could speak my mind when I was out captainin’ expeditions or trail blazin’. Takin’ charge. Givin’ orders. Leadin’. I was real good at it. Loved it. It was my life! But when it came to bondin’ like ya do, folk couldn't see past my quiet.

“Or they thought when they done wrong, and I called ‘em on it, that I didn't care. But I did! I appreciated the company even if I could never form the words. I wrote my brother about it once, askin’ for help. Advice. Anything. He didn't have the answers. Said it was just my way. I was as God made me.

“In my head, my words were beautiful and good. Right. But they always came out of my mouth so choppy. Or they were taken wrong. So’ins folk never got what I was tryin’ ta’ say. I want _you_ to get it.”

“Alright,” Octavius replies automatically.

He swallows, bites his lip, breath hitching again. He clamps down on the emotion. He squeezes his eyes shut, lifting his palm to his forehead over Jedediah's shoulder, trying to master himself.

“If you need ta’ cry, then cry. I won't think less of ya. But I need for ya to settle down if it’s over what I said. I meant it when I said I couldn't stand ta’ see ya hurt.”

Octavius replies absently, “Alright…”

“I may want ta’ jerk a knot in your tail, but it don’t mean the friendship's gone. It means I'm mad and ya need ta’ let me stew a spell while I work through it on my own. It’s my way.”

“Alright.”

“If ya don’t let me be mad, then I’m goin’ ta’ turn around and tan your hide! Drop you like a sack of potatoes. Understand?”

“Y-yes. I understand.”

“We ain’t done here. This ain’t over. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“There was someone I cared for once. A good friend to me and mine over the years. Conversin’ with them wasn't a chore. It never felt awkward. I miss ‘em. They could speak Latin. Like you.”

Octavius squeezes his eyes shut, feeling a twinge of something dark, primal, and possessive — and excessively lethal toward this unknown interloper. He lifts his chin against these particular emotions.

“No doubt, I speak it better.”

Jedediah huffs out a breath, tension melting against him somewhat, and Octavius feels soft exhalations against his neck.

He shudders, resisting the nearly all-consuming urge to sweetly nuzzle his cheek against Jedediah’s. Offer his throat.

A darker part of him desires to be more aggressive and attack that stubbled jawline, leave a trail of burning, searing kisses down Jedediah’s neck, past his throat. Remove the neckerchief, and rip buttons from that flimsy blue shirt. Expose a well-toned shoulder. Take him down to the ground.

Take without asking.

It's all he’s ever known.

Octavius’s eyes snap open. His lips peel back in a snarl, shaking with rage. He grits his teeth, tamping down and warning off the specter of a life that hasn’t been his in over two thousand years. If the shadow does not recognize this fact and take heed, he will smother him.

His breath hitches.

“Sshh. It’s alright. Settle down,” Jedediah says quietly, shushing him. His voice is sweet like warmed honey. “Settle down now.”

Octavius nods. Sighs against his neck. Relaxes. Being in Jedediah’s arms, resting his head on a warm shoulder, inhaling his clean scent, and listening to his soft southern drawl is quite enough. He is content.

Jedediah turns his head slightly, his lips close to Octavius’s ear.

Octavius tenses, brow crinkling.

“What you said,” Jedediah whispers. “How you said it. You really hurt my feelings.”

Octavius bites his lip and nods. Mouth trembling, his voice in an undertone, he whispers back, “I know. I'm sorry.”

“Don’t you be doin’ it again.”

Octavius nods once more. He has no excuses to offer even though he could rationalize several, all of them reasonable and true. He gives none.

“Never again.” It is an edict. “I cannot bear to see you hurt either.”

Octavius’s heart thrums inside his chest when he feels Jedediah squeeze gently, the hat bumping against his temple again as Jedediah tilts his head slightly.

Octavius pulls back. Overcome by a wave of tenderness, his hand lifts to gently cup the side of Jedediah’s face. His fingers brush against blond stubble.

Jedediah stiffens up. He clenches his eyes shut, tugging his chin to the side. Remembering himself, he shrugs off Octavius's hand, and wriggles free.

He pushes Octavius roughly back.

Octavius goes, stumbling. Overcompensating, he loses his footing and falls over on his rump.

It should be a moment of intense embarrassment over yet another rejection.

Octavius’s face is alight — a quick flash of white teeth and a lopsided, goofy grin. There are stars in his eyes.

Stern, Jedediah points his finger down in warning.

Fair enough.

“Never again,” Jedediah repeats. “I’m holding you to that.” He stomps away, but speaks over his shoulder. “You’re forgiven, by the way. So’ins ya know.” He turns around walking backward. “But I still don’t like your family!”

Octavius’s mouth lifts at the corners. Energized, he bounces up and bounds forward.

“I don’t particularly care for yours, either!”

When he catches up, he raises his arm and hooks it around Jedediah's shoulder and plants a wet, sloppy kiss against Jedediah's temple, under the brim of his ridiculous hat. A quick smack laced with warm, comfortable affection.

Jedediah yelps, windmilling his arms. Flailing. Recoiling, he scrunches into himself.

Thinking better of it, he straightens and lifts the hat from his head, now intent on beating Octavius to death with it.

Octavius takes off like a shot, laughing, dodging out of the way of the smacks.

He zigzags, but is eventually caught and lifted off his feet by his paludamentum. Whirled, he is wrestled to the ground. He is straddled and smacked over and over again with the hat of doom. Ranted at. Very, very loudly. Still laughing, he shields himself with a raised arm.

Jedediah eventually winds down and rolls off him, spent. He falls over on his back, lying spread-eagle.

Vibrating with mirth, Octavius clutches his armor-plated torso, one knee bent in a distinctly immodest fashion, his pteruges and undergarments sliding down, revealing his thigh.

He feels giddy, positively ravished despite nothing untoward happening between them and relishes this moment of sweet innocence.

Perhaps they can grow up together, after all. Perhaps, in their own way, they can even rewrite history.

Feeling watched, he turns his gaze and stops laughing. Jedediah flicks his gaze up after giving Octavius’s thigh a second of appraisal.

Brown meets blue. All else fades away.

As before, they smile with their eyes, gazes speaking volumes in a language that is still being written and rewritten.

Octavius suffers a jolt as a universe explodes into existence. It is stronger. More stable. Far more resilient than the last.

Entirely new stars are born, creating with them different patterns to unfamiliar constellations.

Worlds are forming.

Shaping themselves, they cool and expand.

They harbor and sustain _life_.

It is glorious.

Even in a wrecked, nearly destroyed library, with chaos and devastation all around them, despite the obliterated bookcases, half-eaten tomes, and bindings torn beyond repair, they are happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout-out thank you to my super, mega, amazing beta. We have entirely too much fun! <333


	15. A New Sheriff in Town, Part 1

* * *

_Only slightly later…_

Octavius cannot help but stare.

His gaze roves over Jedediah’s face, tracing every line. He drinks in the sight of Jedediah lying across from him on his back.

Jedediah peers over, not saying anything. He smiles, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

Octavius thinks he could get used to this. This affection between them, openly shared. He could curl up on his side and doze off like this. Fall asleep to it. Wake up to the sight.

It could only be his imagination, but Jedediah’s eyes appear to glow in the half light.

He is breathtaking. More so because he is thoughtless grace, sprawled out like he is, oblivious of his own charms. It is so utterly beyond the realm of Octavius’s experience that he has no idea how to proceed.

This man should know how handsome he is. And, yet. He truly does not. He should be coy or, perhaps even a little wolfish, with an artifice designed to entice, and yet, he is not, and does not. Even knowing the reasons why Jedediah is this way, it is still mind boggling and endearing beyond measure.

Slowly, Jedediah blinks and his brows knit together. He falters. A flickering expression of confusion and doubt passes over his face at Octavius’s continued scrutiny.

Blue eyes cloud over, his expression growing affable, but distant in a way that is fast becoming his custom.

Octavius stops himself from letting out a long sigh.

Turning on his side, he stretches an arm out instead, as though to say, _Do not leave me_.

He does not touch, mind, knowing what rushing Jedediah gets him.

The small movement seems to jolt Jedediah from his internal chatter.

He squints at the gesture. His distant expression fades and his gaze clears to that sparkling vivid blue, mixed with turquoise.

One side of Octavius’s mouth lifts in a lopsided smile and Jedediah’s eyes crinkle in good-humored amusement.

He thinks they could remain like this forever and be content. Well. Octavius could.

They hold their pose for several more moments, but their peace is short-lived.

They hear the rapid clicking of heels on tile.

In several long strides, Cecil reappears with a broom and dustpan, head down.

He flicks on the overhead lights.

Octavius and Jedediah lift their heads and are instantly blinded, flinging their arms up over their eyes. They do not cry out lest they give away their position.

Octavius rapidly blinks to see past his spotted vision, and his stomach drops. With no tomes to hide behind, they are completely exposed. Even with Cecil’s head drawn down, there is nowhere to run where the night watchman wouldn’t catch their movements.

Regardless, they roll to their feet, each dropping to one knee, shoulder to shoulder, just as Cecil lifts his head.

Trapped in his gaze, they cling to one another as though they were two naughty children rather than the grown men they are.

Cecil blinks and his brow crinkles at the pair of them.

His mouth drops open as events click into place behind his eyes and comprehension dawns.

Octavius thinks they should introduce themselves properly, but he can feel Jedediah’s muscles tense and realizes Jedediah is poised to run.

_Not without him._

They angle themselves to bolt just as the night guard lifts his arm and points.

“Hey! We’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Run!” Jedediah shouts, shoving Octavius ahead of him.

They dart, duck, weave, slip, zig, zag, and scramble toward the direction of the overhead grate.

Coming to the end of the bookcase, Octavius waves his arms, skidding to a halt, uncertain.

He points at the yellow ribbon Jedediah used to climb down.

“I will not be seen climbing that flimsy excuse for a rope.”

“‘Tavius!” Jedediah shouts, bounces, and jerks his head, peering behind them at the fast-approaching Cecil.

The night guard stumbles over several fallen books in his path to reach them, grabbing hold of shelves to keep his balance.

Jedediah whirls back around. “Now ain’t the time!”

Octavius holds his ground. “No.”

“Really?” Jedediah asks, incredulous. “You ain’t gonna pull this crap again, are ya? You really want us to whip out our _twigs and berrie_ s, right here, right now?” He jumps up and down, hands balled into tight, twitching fists. “You have the lousiest timing of anyone I’ve ever met!”

Octavius frowns at the nonsensical babble. Blinking rapidly, he wonders how many strange phrases and ridiculous words Jedediah has for the male genitalia.

“My timing is perfect!” he insists. “There is simply no possible way you are getting me up that bright yellow eyesore!”

Jedediah moves to stand closer to Octavius. Face grim, his jaw is set in determination. He speaks slowly and clearly.

“I don’t care if the rope don’t _look_ fashionable, or meet with your approval, or if it clashes with that highfalutin tin can of yours. If ya don’t start climbing _right_ _now_ , I will throw you up there like you were a dang rodeo clown. I’ll toss ya like you’ve been flung from the back end of a bull, I swear to God I will!”

Octavius crosses his arms and lifts his chin. He sniffs. “Idle threats!”

Jedediah raises his index finger. “Don’t you be givin’ me guff, boy!”

Octavius points at the ribbon again. “That rope is unstable. It will be unable to support our weight. You know it’s true.”

“Whataya talking about? It’s fine!’ Jedediah retorts, waving his hand.

“It could barely support _yours_ ,” Octavius snaps.

“Ockie…” Jedediah warns, stony-jawed and simmering.

Octavius regally lifts his chin a little higher.

“Don’t make me get physical.”

“I would sooner die than climb that rope. Threaten me if you must, I’m not afraid!”

Losing patience, Jedediah yells a solid war cry. “ _Nnnhhhaaaahh!_ ”

Octavius lets out an undignified screech as he is grabbed, hoisted by the back of his armor and top of his pteruges, and thrust up into the air, hurling face-first toward the rope ribbon at an angle.

He screams, hitting the wall with a grunt, in shock. Somehow, he scrambles wildly for purchase before gravity can pull him down, grabbing the flimsy excuse for a rope.

Bunching the smooth yellow ribbon around his wrist, he breaks into a racking cough.

“Jedediah!” he chastises when he catches his breath, clinging to the rope. “I would have a word with you!”

Huddling miserably upon himself, his arms tremble.

The ribbon creaks under his weight and he peers up.

Instinctively, he lifts one leg, twisting it around his shin. He lifts the other, repeating the process for added security.

He suddenly feels the rush of wind and then a weighty tug that pulls the rope taut against his limbs.

The ribbon swings under the momentum and doubled weight.

A warm body moves up the rope and presses against his own.

Octavius almost leans into it. It might have left him delightfully breathless if not for —

“Climb!” Jedediah commands.

A wicked smile lifts the corners of Octavius’s mouth. He lets out a throaty little chuckle, a glimmer of amusement in his gaze. Simply unable to keep his wayward thoughts to himself, his voice dips low into a sultry whisper.

“ _Mmmm_ , you’re being awfully forward, love. I could grow accustomed to this new assertive _you_. Manly. Aggressive. I wholeheartedly approve.”

“Hush, you! And climb, dad-gum it!”

Feeling unappreciated, Octavius rolls his eyes, looking to the ceiling for guidance. Hand over hand, he lifts himself further. He bends his knees, untwisting the ribbon from his ankle, and lifts himself up a little higher.

Halfway looping the ribbon back around his ankle for support, the rope creaks again.

He peers up as the flimsy material rubs against the sharp edge of the grate, making a sound somewhere between a squeak and a groan.

A surge of dread creeps along Octavius’s spine. He hesitates, clutching the rope tighter in a white-knuckled grip.

“What's the problem? You know we can take a fall, and you hopped down, easy as ya pleased earlier,” Jedediah reminds him.

“That was a controlled drop. Of my own choosing. You don’t like feeling powerless. Well, I don’t appreciate when I’m not in control over my environment.”

In all honesty, he’s still a bit rattled over the near fall from earlier and the subsequent ripping of his limbs that surely would have followed.

He’s also uncertain of the unknown quantity that is Cecil.

And —

His hands are trembling, and not out of fear.

The truth of the matter is far more embarrassing. He’s physically drained. His legs feel like rubber. Arms, calves, and thigh muscles all quiver from overexertion.

Put simply, he’s worn out, having done too much: racing, climbing, flying through the air. Clinging, hiding, fighting and reconciling with Jedediah — that in itself a massive emotional undertaking. He’s hurled books that are over twice-to-three times his own size with nothing but strength of will and the determination to see it done.

Fatigued and feeling the weight of his years pulling him down, he knows he’s reached a point beyond his endurance.

He considers simply untangling himself from the rope and dropping down to confront Cecil. Or bargain with him.

Surely, the night guard can be swayed into forming an alliance after such care he and Jedediah displayed for his welfare.

“Climb, ya big baby!”

“Don’t rush me!”

Octavius feels a muscle spasm in his hand and involuntarily loses ground. The yellow ribbon slips from his grasp and he begins sliding down a fraction.

Jedediah’s aggravated retort dies unspoken.

He tenses at the loosened grip, and positions his knee just below Octavius’s rump to act as a buffer before Octavius can slide down any further. Shifting, he grabs Octavius’s wrist, and places it back up the ribbon.

“I gotcha,” he says, his tone much calmer now, as though finally understanding the reason Octavius has been stalling. “Keep climbing.”

A gentle warmth settles over Octavius as the back of his shin is hooked by an ankle.

His thigh is lifted at the bend in his knee, guided by a leather clad leg.

“Climb.”

With laborious effort, Octavius does as instructed, pulling himself up.

Behind them, Cecil trips over the books on the floor, taking a few wobbly steps their way.

He lets out a startled yelp and crashes to the floor.

The wall rattles at Cecil’s fall.

Octavius twists around to find Cecil holding his ankle, obviously in pain. A sprain or worse.

Jedediah lifts his knee and Octavius’s other thigh is lifted.

“Don’t ya be worrying about what’s going on back there,” Jedediah says with a strained grunt. “You worry about what’s happening here. Come on. Keep moving up. The ribbon’s gonna hold.”

Octavius sighs explosively, turning his face away. “I’m telling you. It will not hold!”

“Then _you_ take the ribbon and _I’ll_ climb the wall.”

“No!” Octavius shouts, making a desperate, blind grab for Jedediah. “Stay where you are! I’ll not be separated from you.”

“You best be climbing, then.”

Well.

When put that way —

Determinedly, Octavius lifts his leg. Limbs trembling, he strains, pulling himself further up with a sudden burst of energy.

Jedediah mirrors him movement for movement, acting as a buffer should Octavius begin slipping again.

They advance slowly, their pace setting a rhythm, each lifting and pulling themselves further up the rope together.

Above them, Sweet Pea lets out a whicker.

Octavius peers in her direction. The action causes his neck muscles to ache, and he tenses.

The hellbeast is agitated, tossing her head up and down, stomping her hooves. Not enough to cause sparks, but she is clearly attempting to draw their attention.

The rope-end tied to the grate is tearing, ripping against the sharp metal, under both his and Jedediah’s combined weight.

He blanches.

“Don’t look at it! Just keep climbing.”

Octavius nods and sucks in a breath. “Sage advice.”

He hooks his leg around the ribbon and pulls himself up with a grunt.

They each feel a shift in the rope as the ribbon frays a little bit more.

Another spasm shoots through Octavius’s hand. Heart beating a tattoo in his chest, he feels his grip weakening.

He begins to slip.

His momentum is halted by Jedediah’s knee between his thighs.

Jedediah makes a grab to steady him, his gloved hand inadvertently coming up and sliding past his pteruges to grip his hips in his haste to catch him.

Octavius squawks, breath stuttering in his throat. The skin where Jedediah touches him tingles, gooseflesh pebbling.

He squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to order his thoughts before the most intimate part of him rebels. Again.

His heart continues to race out of control.

_Typical._

Gritting his teeth, he squirms.

“You owe me, remember?” Jedediah reminds. “ _Crocodile rodeo_! Now, climb!”

The adrenaline pumping through his system makes his head spin. Bending forward, Octavius leans his forehead against the wall.

“Jedediah?” he rasps. He swivels his head, peering over his shoulder. “You're making it exceedingly difficult to concentrate. Kindly remove your hand from my person.”

Jedediah jumps at Octavius’s words. “Oh...”

He pauses as though he hadn’t realized where his gloved hand was gripping. “Oh, good golly! Jiminy Christmas! God, Oct. I’m sorry.”

Octavius shakes his head, biting his lip, eyes closed. His stomach clenches with a sense of loss.

Wanting no misunderstandings, his voice softens.

“Never apologize. I extended an invitation. Under normal circumstances I would welcome your touch with enthusiasm. Never doubt that. Simply be mindful of where you place your hands at present. I’m finding your nearness to be an ever increasing distraction.”

Jedediah is quiet, saying nothing, but his hand moves to the side of the wall, bracketing Octavius, pinning him inside his arms.

Octavius nods with a shudder, pent up breath stuttering out of him. “You have my gratitude.”

Remaining silent, it’s Jedediah’s turn to nod. They are close enough Octavius feels the small, barely-there movements behind him.

“No problemo,” Jedediah finally whispers. His breathing is uneven.

The tone is pleasing and threatens to shoot straight through Octavius.

He grips the rope tighter. Straining, he pushes his other leg up, pulling himself closer to the grate with all of his might.

They hear a clamor behind them and increase their pace.

He feels the give as the rope ribbon frays and hauls himself up another fraction of an inch.

“That’s my boy. You’re doing good,” Jedediah says, bouncing up behind him. “Doing real good. Just keep climbing. If it breaks, it breaks. I still gotcha.”

Octavius doesn’t spare breath for speech, but simply nods again and climbs.

He wrinkles his nose, straining. Sweat beads on his forehead. His legs hurt. His arms hurt. His shoulders ache. Every muscle in his body is on fire, but he keeps moving and feels the fraying in the minute vibrations the ribbon makes.

Part of the ribbon snaps and gravity pulls Octavius down.

His momentum is halted by a gloved hand. He yelps, and bounces against his rope.

He angles his head, giving Jedediah a proper glower at their predicament.

Up above, Sweet Pea is attempting to clamp down on the remaining ends of the ribbon with her teeth.

She snorts and clops backward, pulling the taut rope ribbon along.

Octavius feels himself jerked up.

“Climb,” Jedediah encourages. “Help her out.”

Octavius nods, and claws upward toward salvation.

Dragging them, Sweet Pea whinnies, pulling back at a steady pace.

She pulls; they climb.

The rope ribbon begins to sway a little from left to right.

The sway turns into a full swing and the ribbon is abruptly ripped from Sweet Pea’s mouth.

Violently wrenched back, Octavius gathers up his manly spirit and lets out a scream.

His momentum is immediately stopped by Jedediah, who grabs, yanks him close, and hefts him over one shoulder.

Jedediah manages to angle them over to the wall, halting their drop just as the hellbeast neighs in distress and gallops to the edge of the grate. Skidding to a stop, she peers over.

She catches the ribbon between her teeth again before her end of the rope can plummet to the floor below and is lost.

Octavius wiggles in Jedediah’s grip so he can face him. He maneuvers until he is sandwiched against the wall and his friend.

Panting, their faces are flushed and sweaty.

“I’m developing a new exercise regimen for my army,” Octavius tosses out in a casual tone.

Blinking at the seeming randomness, Jedediah tilts his head, “Oh, yeah?”

Octavius nods, face tight with embarrassment.

“It will focus on an increased grip, balance, and muscular strength. I object to my own lack of endurance. I should be able to keep up with you and plan on remedying this training oversight when we return home.”

Jedediah shakes his head. His eyes are wide and honest.

"Don’t fret. All this ain't easy for me either and it ain’t like it’s my first rodeo. You’re doing fine. Just fine."

Above them, Sweet Pea chomps down on the rope, getting an even tighter grip on the material.

Back at it, Jedediah works quickly. Swiftly, he tests the ribbon, finding the parts that are the most sturdy and knotting them together.

Then he ties more of the rope, joining part of the slackened portion of the ribbon into a rather clever rope swing that is almost comfortable to sit on.

The sling gives Octavius’s muscles a rest as Jedediah works to support them. Octavius’s weight spins him lightly in a half arc on the swing.

Working in tandem with Jedediah, Sweet Pea lifts her head, attempting to loop the remaining rope ribbon around her own neck.

Octavius spares a glance at the night guard. His stomach quivers.

They stare at one another in silence.

Cecil is frowning, watching them with an expression bordering on hatred. Accusation, certainly. Holding them solely responsible for the books on the floor and the destruction around them. Looking for someone to blame.

He dusts off his pant leg. There is a grim set to his jaw and spots of color high on his cheeks.

Eyes glittering, Octavius lifts his chin at the man. His face is as hard as marble, and he gives the night guard a defiant glare.

Betrayal reflects in his gaze.

Now that the guard has hurt himself, there will be no reasoning with him. He will associate them with injury.

Guilty or not, they have already been tried and judged to be so.

Cecil stands, the muscles in his jaw tightening. Pain from his twisted ankle burns in his gaze.

He gives them a chilly little smile that Octavius must assume is _meant_ to be friendly. Coaxing. It is not.

Oblivious, Jedediah gives the yellow ribbon a tug, testing its strength, and says, “I think it best if I climb up on my own. You hang onto the rope as best you can; this is gonna be fast. When you’re at the top, climb over the side of the grate lickety split. I’ll be right behind ya.”

Octavius shifts his gaze back to Jedediah. Hardened eyes soften.

Human nature dictates certain inevitable outcomes.

He should have known better. Would have known better if he hadn’t set himself on the path to self betterment.

There was once a time, before he’d awoken here, when he’d been exceedingly good at reading people. Only. His ideals are changing. These recent notions are disconcerting, and open him up to a world of disappointment.

Except when it comes to this man before him now.

Perhaps some of the Americans may be barbarians, but this one certainly is not. Far from it.

Jedediah may, in fact, be the sweetest man Octavius has ever known.

His mouth quirks, smiling sadly. Emotion prickles at the back of his throat and he swallows.

He’d wheedled Jedediah. Gotten his way, even though Jedediah must have certainly suspected the inevitable outcome.

Jedediah’s dislike for the giants isn’t lost on Octavius, knowing the gesture must have cost him.

Octavius’s heart twists a little more.

His gaze roves over Jedediah’s face, taking in the faint lines of stress and worry bracketing his eyes. His mouth.

He dips his gaze.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, softly.

Jedediah tugs once more on the rope, double checking for signs of tearing.

His eyes flick to Octavius. “What for?”

Octavius shakes his head.

Somberly, and with infinite gentleness, he leans forward and presses his lips to the side of Jedediah’s temple, below the brim of his hat. Only this time, there is no humor in it. No teasing. No lust. Only care and, perhaps, an apology.

As though the kiss means everything and nothing at all.

Jedediah stills at the action and then immediately jerks, his head rocketing up.

He blinks and shoots Octavius a stunned stare. His eyes are wide. Vulnerable.

With an impeccable sense of drama, Octavius winds his arms around Jedediah’s neck.

“Change of plans,” he declares, making it a proper edict. “ _Jedediah rodeo_!”

Jedediah’s voice is rough, half-strangled.

“ _Oct—_ ”

The clopping of hooves like drums, and a plaintive, snuffling whinny is Octavius’s only warning before Jedediah’s hastily knotted-together swing is first tugged, and then jerked taut.

Before Jedediah can think to untangle himself from Octavius’s grasp, Octavius shifts and wraps his legs securely around Jedediah’s waist, locking him firmly in place.

“We go together or not at all!” he says, echoing his earlier sentiment. He shakes his head, setting his jaw stubbornly. “I will _not_ leave you.”

He holds on tight, brow furrowed. The corner of his mouth twitches up when Jedediah wraps his arms around Octavius’s shoulders, clutching him back.

Jumping up, Cecil sidesteps the books and darts forward at a sprint. He reaches out in a fast, purposeful motion and grabs for them.

And then there is the sensation of flying.

Jedediah frowns and whips his head at the displacement of air, peering over his shoulder at Cecil.

Mouth hanging open, he twists back studying Octavius in silence.

“ _Oct_!” he repeats.

Giddy, feeling like he’s won a prize, Octavius quirks an enigmatic eyebrow, mouth breaking into a lopsided smile, a look of pride on his face.

He braces himself against the fast, ominous, heat-warped _zip_ , and the smoke coming off the ribbon as it rapidly scrapes against metal.

Wind in their faces, it rushes to greet them, plucking at Jedediah’s shirt and tangling itself in his hair. It ruffles Octavius’s sleeves and whips his paludamentum around them as they hurtle toward the grate at breakneck speed.

Fire flashes high above, lighting the inside of the tunnel, as they are pulled to safety.

At the top, they grip the grate, mindful of the heat.

Jedediah fights with Octavius’s makeshift sling. Hands gripping Octavius's underarms, he pulls him free.

They swing their legs up and over the side of the grate, pulling themselves back into the silvery, dusty tunnel.

Octavius lands with a flop beside Sweet Pea’s hooves.

He lifts his gaze and waves slightly.

“Miss me?” he asks.

Unenthused, the hellbeast stares at him for a moment, and then flicks her tail. Ears pricked, she shakes her head from side to side as though to say, _Not particularly_.

He exhales a breathy laugh.

“The cheek. You are most definitely Jedediah’s steed.”

Beside him, Jedediah shakes his head a little, blinking over.

“None of that now," he admonishes in an almost-whine.

Red-faced and breathing heavy, he is splayed out on his back. His chest heaves, rapidly rising and falling.

The sight is exquisite.

Exhausted, Jedediah lifts a shaking hand, covering his eyes with his forearm.

Octavius admires the view until a stinging sensation shifts his focus. He lifts labor-stiffened fingers, turning them over.

Both of his palms are marred with small abrasions where the rope chafed his hands.

Deemed unimportant, he drops them, feeling tremendously tired. Tremors run up and down his arms, and his legs feel weak.

He blinks slowly. Blindly reaching for Jedediah’s sleeve, he tugs on it.

Jedediah is warm, touchable, and pliant.

Octavius curls up on his side, pulling Jedediah along to settle against him like a security blanket.

Muscles in Jedediah’s arms stiffen, resistant.

Octavius intentionally remains casual and nonplussed.

Jedediah relaxes against him slowly.

After a while, Octavius turns his head.

“We must return home,” he advises. “We must check on our people and see what sort of mischief they’ve gotten themselves up to during our prolonged absence.

“I trust my men, but only up to a certain point. They are Roman, after all.”

Jedediah doesn't reply for a long moment, but he radiates disappointment.

Octavius hears him fiddling around with his hat.

“Yeah,” Jedediah eventually acknowledges with a sigh. “I best be rounding up mine, too.” There is the sound of movement, and then he perks up behind Octavius. “Africa, later?”

Octavius nods. “Africa, later.”

“I wanna ride a honey badger.”

“You are _not_ riding a honey badger.”

“I’ll lasso one of ‘em, then.”

“No.”

“So —” More sounds of Jedediah fiddling with his hat. “I’m thinking after Africa, I might mosey on over to Australia for a spell. Make a couple of stops along the way. Feel like taggin’ along?”

Affection flares within Octavius’s breast, and he feels himself smiling stupidly over the invitation.

"Mmmm..." he hums softly, a sleepy murmur. “Point me in the right direction, and perhaps. Perhaps.” _Yes._

Jedediah falls quiet and Octavius gropes blindly for his wrist. Finds it. Gently, he guides Jedediah’s arm so that it drapes over his armor-plated chest.

Muscles stiffen again.

Jedediah’s entire body tightens, back to resisting him with pensive strength.

Purposeful and casual, Octavius has deliberately taken the submissive sleeping position, allowing Jedediah more control and the choice to move away from him if he must.

He can sense the feral part of Jedediah falter when Octavius doesn’t try anything. Senses the enigmatic, blue gaze. Can almost feel the subsequent frown of confusion, and then consideration.

Up until this point, Jedediah’s nearness, the touch of his body behind him has been feather-light, barely there. A ghost.

Octavius pats Jedediah’s forearm in reassurance and invites him to remain where he is and to simply relax.

That it is alright. And that he isn’t going to overstep this time.

His actions speak what mere words cannot — yet — alone express.

_Adapt with me._

“Rest.”

This, whatever _this_ is, has been a long time in coming, and Octavius is willing to allow it to unfold where it will, and at its own pace.

He relaxes against Jedediah, eyes drifting shut.

Jedediah does not retreat.

In fact, after several long heartbeats of indecision he tentatively scoots nearer and gingerly pulls Octavius closer against him, seeking companionship and warmth.

Octavius’s spine melts into the contact. A breathy sigh escapes him as Jedediah nuzzles his neck, head resting against his shoulder.

He feels no urgency to rush intimacy, basking in the warm glow of simple human contact.

They lie quiet, dozing together this way.

Shadows play as they listen to the sounds of the night guard banging around outside their grate and the natural sounds the tunnel makes.

Sweet Pea snorts softly, tail flicking.

With the ribbon still loosely draped about her neck, she protectively stands over them while they gather strength for the journey ahead.

* * *

_Later…_

After traveling through the silver tunnels for some time, Octavius and Jedediah come to a grate that opens up to a tile floor somewhere in the museum.

They peer at each other in silent communication.

Octavius takes hold of the hellbeast’s reins while Jedediah saunters over to examine the exit.

“How does it look?” Octavius calls out, words echoing.

Tail flicking, Sweet Pea stands quietly, focused on her human.

Jedediah eyeballs the steed in consideration and then runs his gloved palms over the metal points of the grate.

After a beat, he calls back, “Don’t look as though there’s any sharp edges that need to be covered up or could stand to be sanded down. The points are low enough they won’t go pokin’ her in the belly. Looks good. Let’s go.”

Jedediah walks back and takes the reins from Octavius. He grabs hold of the steed’s withers and alley oops onto her back.

"I reckon it’s gonna be a spell gettin’ home,” he says, nodding. “Might as well save your legs some walkin’.” He pats the spot on Sweet Pea’s back directly behind him, scooting forward to give Octavius room. “Hop on."

Appreciative, Octavius smiles, and then falters.

Riding double would present a problem. The nearness to Jedediah, the close proximity of him mixed with the swaying motion of the steed would surely be his undoing.

Octavius is rather proud of himself; he’s been behaving rather well and has no wish to tempt fate.

“No, thank you. I prefer to walk.”

“Octy,” Jedediah begins, exasperated. “Put down the dad-blame measuring stick and get up here.”

“No.”

“ _Octavius_ …”

Octavius bites his lip, considering.

“I’ll ride, but I wish to be in front. You can sit behind me.” That seems safer. What Jedediah doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and if anything should happen to arise, the only one the wiser would be the horse.

He blinks, startling.

Somehow his gaze has strayed over to Jedediah’s finely sculpted-backside and he’s been talking to Jedediah’s rump.

He drags his eyes back up, first over Jedediah’s shoulders, and then pins his gaze directly on Jedediah’s face.

Yearning courses through him.

Bristling, Octavius swears he hears the horse nicker in equine laughter. He glares at the steed, and folds his arms over his chest with a sniff.

Sweet Pea blows breath through her nose. She snorts.

Jedediah shakes his head.

“That’s a big no-can-do, buckaroo.” He pats the hellbeast again. “My horse. My rules.”

He frowns when Octavius hesitates.

Octavius refuses to look him in the eyes.

Absently rubbing the side of his face, Jedediah drops his gaze.

Octavius bites his bottom lip.

After a beat, Jedediah jerks his chin. “Come on,” he says more softly, the southern accent momentarily vanishing. He pats the steed’s back again. “I ain’t bitten anyone yet.”

Octavius’s face is tight, but seeing Jedediah’s vulnerability, he surrenders.

Lifting his gaze to the ceiling, he prays for strength.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

With a sigh, Octavius marches forward and presses his hands on Sweet Pea’s back. He bounces up and down a couple of times experimentally. He has nothing else to grab onto since Jedediah isn’t offering his hand. No doubt it serves him right.

Pushing off with a spring, he swings his right leg up and over the rump of the horse.

Awkwardly, he settles in, ramrod straight, refusing to move a muscle.

“‘Tavius, you’re gonna fall off if ya sit like that!”

“Perhaps an _American_ might,” Octavius says, and regally lifts his chin. His chest is puffed out with false pride. “ _I_ , on the other hand, am Roman and, therefore, perfectly content with how I'm seated.”

“Fine. Have it your way, then,” Jedediah mutters with a sigh. He clicks the roof of his mouth.

Arms crossed, Octavius sits up a little straighter.

“Thank you, I shall—”

The hellbeast bounds forward.

“— _Oh,_ _Sweet Jupiter!_ ” he squawks, letting out an involuntary yelp as he is abruptly tossed backward from the steed and into the air.

Flailing his limbs, he grips Jedediah about the waist, clinging to him for dear life.

Jedediah reins the hellbeast into a sliding halt. “You were sayin’?”

“Jedediah!” Octavius chastises, holding fast.

Sweet Pea stomps her hooves impatiently at having been forced to stop.

“Oh, quit your bellyaching, ya big baby,” Jedediah says, peering over his shoulder. “You deserved that one. Goin’ all weird on me.”

Octavius harrumphs. “I’m attempting to preserve your precious virtue, you dolt!”

Letting out a relieved-sounding breath, Jedediah laughs softly.

Octavius feels the rhythmic laughter rattle through his armor. The vibrations are pleasant.

“There he is! That's my boy! God love ya!” Jedediah says, still laughing. “My virtue, huh? I’ll have you know I can protect my own dang virtue, thank you very much.”

“As you say.”

“Hey, Oct? If you're gonna spring a chastity belt on me, I ain’t wearin’ it unless it comes with one honkin’ doozy of a belt buckle. Just so'ins you know. We’re talkin’ the size of Texas!”

“I have no idea what you’re babbling about.”

With that, Octavius lifts his chin, refusing to comment further. He isn’t joking. Not even a little.

Mindful of keeping his groin as far from Jedediah as humanly possible, Octavius leans his chest forward slightly and wraps his arm a little more securely around Jedediah’s waist, anchoring him against his armor-plated chest.

Jedediah stills, _bless_ _him_ , and sucks in a breath, stomach muscles tightening.

Protectiveness surges through Octavius.

“You’re safe with me.” It is a solemn oath, an edict, and a vow. “Always.”

Jedediah pauses, glancing around. His gaze is searching, vulnerable.

“You wanna know a secret?”

Octavius inclines his head.

“You're safe with me, too.”

They aren’t precisely speaking the same language at the moment, but the confession is appreciated all the same. Mouth quirking up, Octavius nods.

“I've known that for a _very_ long time.”

Jedediah blinks rapidly at the comment. Happy. And then he tips his hat. After a beat, he clears his throat and nods.

“Well. Alrighty, then.” He clicks the roof of his mouth once again. “Hang on.”

And then they are off.

The sensation of galloping is not unlike flying.

They burst from the grate and onto the tile floor.

A strong wind rushes to greet them. The air whips Octavius’s sleeves, pteruges, and paludamentum. It combs through Jedediah’s hair like a long-lost paramour and flaps the fabric of his thin blue shirt in an almost-caress.

Octavius is struck by a completely odd notion that the wind wants Jedediah back.

A strange, unidentifiable emotion flickers in his breast and his arms around Jedediah's waist tighten.

Resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder, he squeezes his eyes tightly closed.

Jedediah’s muscles tense under his hands for the briefest of heartbeats, but then relaxes. He shouts something.

The wind steals Jedediah’s words and Octavius has to strain to hear.

“ _What!_ ”

Jedediah peers over his shoulder, bouncing in his seat and laughing. His blue eyes are shining at Octavius; they sparkle.

Octavius’s heart stutters and he knows he is lost.

“We’re in the wind, baby! Whoo-whee!”

The hellbeast puffs and blows, snorting and panting loudly.

At a full-tilt gallop, she moves with a fluid grace as they fly across the museum tiles.

Her hooves spark wildly. Fire ignites, flaring out all around them, blazing a trail.

Exhibits scatter in their wake.

Octavius feels the heat off the flames warming his toes and he nestles closer to Jedediah.

The wind stings his eyes and Jedediah's hair whips against Octavius’s cheek, slapping him mercilessly.

He grins from ear to ear, and he knows his eyes are lighting up like it’s the Fourth of July.

As they race past corridor after corridor, Octavius feels, that for the first time in his life, he is…free.

He laughs happily.

“No!” He shakes his head. “We _are_ the wind!”

* * *

_Later…_

Sweet Pea snorts, slowing down and Jedediah leads her into a walk.

Allowing her to rest, Octavius and Jedediah hop off with a bounce.

Jedediah grabs the reins, and they walk slowly beside her.

Her head swings from side to side as the pair of them walk and talk about everything and nothing.

Every so often there is a sharp laugh from Octavius. He clutches his armor-plated stomach as Jedediah animatedly regales him with stories about some of the expeditions he captained and the unique personalities he met on the trail.

_Later…_

“... and so the steps get closer,” Jedediah whispers, his voice getting steadily quieter, forcing Octavius to step nearer to hear him. “Johnny, I want my liver back. Johnny, I’m on the first step…”

Octavius stares open-mouthed, eyes wide.

“Johnny, I’m on the _lan-ding_. Johnny, I want my liver back. Johnny, I can _see_ you…” Jedediah sing-songs, his voice barely above a sigh. “Johnny, I want my liver back. Johnny, I’m in your bedroom. Johnny, I want my liver back…”

Jedediah stops walking, and Octavius stills. He leans closer, hypnotized by Jedediah’s southern, warmed-honey drawl.

Even if Octavius is certain Johnny is a sick, twisted, and disturbed individual, he still wants to hear how the story ends.

They are face-to-face, inches apart.

Staring at one another, their breathing is in sync.

“Johnny, I want…”

Octavius’s own breathing picks up the pace.

Jedediah’s eyes are half-slitted. He leans closer and breathes, “ _Johnny…_ ”

If Octavius tilts his chin only slightly, he could brush his mouth against Jedediah’s lips and taste him again. All he has to do is ask permission. He’s fairly, somewhat, almost-slightly certain Jedediah would not push him away. Possibly. He thinks. Probably not.

His pulse quickens in consideration.

Octavius will never know.

At that moment Jedediah’s snaps his eyes open and both of his gloved hands shoot up, curling into instant claws.

He grabs Octavius by the shoulders, shaking him hard.

“ _—and I’m gonna get it back right_ **_now_**!” he shouts.

Octavius startles, squawks, stumbles back, windmills his arms, and falls over on his rump. He clutches his armor-plated chest, blood pounding in his ears.

Jedediah is cackling, actually _cackling_. Octavius’s sweet, little, church mouse explorer-cowboy applauds himself, clapping.

Laughing hysterically, Jedediah slaps his brown leather clad thigh with the inside of his palm and covers his mouth with his hand.

Finding his voice, Octavius thunders, “Jedediah!” All though, the chastisement sounds more like _Jeda-DIAH_!

Clutching his stomach, Jedediah stumbles backward. He trips, vibrating with mirth and falls over. “Doggone it! I gotcha good!”

Octavius sneers, annoyed, and folds his arms over his chest. He hates Johnny. Hates his bloody liver. Hates campfire stories.

He will never again listen to a single one of them no matter how badly Jedediah wants to share. He refuses upon principle.

Never again.

Not even if Jedediah begs.

Octavius slides his eyes sideways and reconsiders. His lips quirk up.

Perhaps _if_ Jedediah begs.

* * *

_Later…_

Members of various exhibits scatter.

Octavius can just make out the battle roar of a Hun and the bellowing echo of another as they gleefully chase the other exhibits around the museum, weapons raised.

He spares a glance over at Jedediah, and they quickly search for cover.

They are in a wide room. There are no visible grates to be seen. The room is an open rectangle, offering nothing but a large, decorative vase to hide behind.

Hearing the whoops and hollers of the Huns, they stop, and then whirl in panicked circles, looking from left to right.

“Who designed this room?” Octavius hisses under his breath, finding nowhere to run.

“Beats me,” Jedediah says.

They hear the furious sounds of running, stomping, gigantic feet, racing in their direction.

Jedediah grabs the crown of his hat with both hands. “It’s a stampede!”

They scurry toward the vase.

Pressing their backs to the ceramic shelter, they squeeze their eyes shut at the multiple _boom, boom, booms_ echoing down the hall.

Beside him, Jedediah holds the heel of his palm to his forehead, rubbing it. His hand is shaking.

“Jedediah?”

“Quiet! I’m tryin’ to think. We gotta come up with a plan.” Jedediah looks this way and that.

He tries to scamper up and climb into the decorative vase, but it’s too slippery even for him.

“We need a plan,” he repeats.

Twisting around, he peers around the vase.

Deep, resonant voices thunder from the hallway.

Jedediah retreats back a step, hiding back behind their only shelter. “Um, um.”

“Perhaps the Huns will simply decide to bypass this room, seeing how it appears empty,” Octavius pipes up hopefully.

Jedediah stills and stares at him, an odd expression sharpening his face. “Since when didja up and decide to become Miss Polly Sunshine all of the dang sudden?”

Having no answer, Octavius shrugs.

With an almost preternatural sense of impending dread, the air around them stills.

Jedediah turns to Octavius.

His eyes have gone wide, mouth shaped in a silent, _oh._ He lights up.

Whipping his Stetson off, he thrusts it at Octavius.

Octavius peers at it.

“I got an idea!” Jedediah insists.

Octavius eyes the Stetson, suspicious. “What does that have to do with giving me your hat?”

There is a crash up the way, and they pause to peer around the vase.

Frenetic sounds of echoing scrapes, furred boots on tile running this way and that, get closer. The Huns are frightening and chasing off stragglers.

Jedediah raises both his eyebrows, and thrusts the Stetson impatiently at Octavius again.

Octavius gingerly takes it.

“Put it on.”

Octavius complies. His eyes are almost buried under the shadow of the brim. He peers up, and then has to tilt his neck to see out.

Jedediah reaches and unclasps Octavius’s paludamentum from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Octavius’s gaze intensifies.

Hesitantly, Jedediah reaches for his brown leather vest and then quickly removes it.

“Jedediah,” Octavius gentles his voice, intrigued. “As much as I wish to take pleasure with you, now isn’t really the proper time!”

Grabbing Octavius by the arm, Jedediah roughly manhandles Octavius into the vest, sliding his hands through the arm holes, and spinning him around. He wraps it securely around Octavius’s torso.

It is a tight fit, having to go around the armor.

“Jedediah, really!” Arms spread out at his sides, Octavius gapes. His hands lifts and clutches either side of Jedediah’s hat. “What are you—”

Undeterred, Jedediah bends down and snatches the paludamentum from the floor, snapping the wrinkles free. He deftly wraps and ties it around Octavius’s waist, covering his ornamental pteruges and sword.

“I’m makin’ an honest woman of ya.”

Octavius blanches.

Jedediah looks at him, craning his neck underneath the brim of the Stetson.

“When they show up, I want ya to let me do the talking. We can’t let on you're Roman, ya hear?”

Octavius opens his mouth.

Jedediah points his finger. “Behave yourself.”

Octavius peers up, trying to see past the brim of the hat. He glances down at his attire.

Cowboy hat, brown leather vest, and a flowing, red, ankle-length skirt.

He looks like many of the women he’s seen in the Old West.

“It’s been less than a week and you’re attempting to turn me into one of your females!”

“Suck it up, buttercup! It’s a disguise.” He unties his neckerchief and ties it around Octavius’s neck, hiding his Adam’s apple. “And there ain’t nothing wrong with being a woman. My momma’s a woman.”

Octavius glowers straight ahead.

“Thank you for your astute observation,” he mutters sarcastically. His mouth thins. “Why must _I_ be the one in the skirt?”

Jedediah snorts. “Gee, now _there’s_ a mystery, _toga boy_.” He shakes his head. “God love ya!”

“Switch with me.”

“Hell, no! You ain’t gettin’ me out of my breeches.”

Octavius lifts an eyebrow and drops his voice into a sultry tone. “Promises, promises.”

He squeaks as Jedediah tugs a little too sharply on the vest in aggravation, pulling it down and covering over the armor the best he can.

“I’m trying to save your Roman hide. The least ya could do is stop comin’ on to me for like, two seconds. And stop whining about the skirt, ya big baby.”

Octavius attempts to at least _appear_ cooperative. Doesn’t succeed. He deflates.

“You got nipples on your tin can...” Jedediah says, dumbfounded, as though it’s the first time he’s noticed them. “Why is this even a thing? They’re humongous!”

Octavius puffs out his chest and raises both his eyebrows.

He looks at Jedediah with a gleam. His voice dips, almost a purr, “The better to entice you with, my dear.”

Jedediah swats him.

“Ow!” Octavius flinches and rubs the sore spot on his arm. “Will you stop doing that?”

“I’ll stop doing it, when you quit hittin’ on me.”

Octavius lifts his chin. “Then we are at an impasse.”

Frowning, Jedediah pulls Octavius closer and grabs the already tied end of the skirt.

He unknots it, and draws it together again, reknotting it tighter, causing Octavius to jump and make a high-pitched squeaking sound.

Octavius will not be deterred. This isn’t a game or a one upmanship, and he isn’t joking.

“Jedediah, honestly, and I ask this in all sincerity. Have you ever paused to consider my flirting might be doing you some good? It’s healthy. You _should_ hear that you are desired and wanted by me. I have no intention of hiding my interest. Whether it be here, or in Rome.”

Jedediah’s eyes flick up briefly. He doesn’t say anything. Nevertheless, the words still hang between them.

Face grim, he eases around, working at making Octavius look presentable. Like a proper frontier lady.

Octavius glances to the far wall. He fidgets.

Peering over his shoulder, he rekindles their conversation when Jedediah will not.

“For the record, there is nothing undesirable about women, having relations with them, or being one. I’ll have you know that I have the utmost regard for women. I had a daughter,” Octavius reminds. “A daughter whom I loved.” He lifts his chin with pride, and then adds, “Besides, the power of feminine persuasion is nothing to sniff at. It may, in fact, be one of the greatest of all political powers. Not to mention I allowed my former wife to choose my lovers. If that isn’t power, I don’t know what is.”

Jedediah stops fiddling with Octavius’s attire and moves to slowly face him. His brow is furrowed.

“Why?”

Octavius frowns, uncertain what Jedediah is asking. “I don’t —”

He is so engrossed in unraveling the meaning behind the question, he doesn’t notice the tremors in the floor signalling the Huns’ approach until the vase they are hiding behind is kicked aside by a gigantic foot.

They dive for cover; there is none. So they roll.

Exposed, they look up, up, and _up._

“God, you all are big…” Jedediah trails off.

Octavius nods in silent agreement, having nothing really to add.

After a beat, Jedediah shakes himself.

“Here goes nothing,” he murmurs to Octavius. He lifts his arm, waving affably up at the giants. “Howdy, howdy!”

Octavius stares. Jedediah’s accent is exaggerated. Thick. Almost as thick and nasally as Silas’s.

Attila peers down at them and blinks. Looking up, he points, speaking to his men, questioning them.

The other Huns stare, too. The timid Hun from before squeals and lifts a leg, angling his body away from them as though Octavius and Jedediah were mice instead of men.

The barker shoves him hard and he falls over. It makes the floor tremble and Octavius and Jedediah are momentarily lifted from the floor.

Attila claps his hands, belly-laughing long and hard and loud. He turns his attention back to Octavius and Jedediah. Holding up his forefinger and thumb, he measures their miniature size.

Jedediah peers up, affronted. “Hey! Who’re you callin’ little?”

The Huns laugh.

Attila proceeds to call Jedediah a name, no doubt something to do with his diminutive size if his hand gestures are any indication.

Jedediah’s jaw tightens.

Sweet Pea flicks her tail and snorts. Her ears flatten sideways.

Not one to be intimidated, Jedediah hops up from his prone position. Fists clenched, he shouts, “Name’s Jedediah!”

He sidesteps.

And then casually, his gloved hands grip his belt. Twisting, he saunters, and then extends a hand to Octavius, grabbing him by the elbow and hauling him to his feet.

He jerks his thumb. “This here’s the missus.”

Octavius whips his gaze.

Seemingly unhurried, Jedediah turns his head to Octavius. His eyes soften, appearing to glow with it’s own inner light. He grins a big, goofy, dopey grin, as though he were in love.

Octavius tilts his chin to one side. Jedediah’s looks are exaggerated, much like his accent. However, the expression is still exceedingly pleasant. He wonders what _Jedediah-in-love_ would truly look like, and allows Jedediah to step closer and smooth out his skirt.

Jedediah’s hands settle against either side of Octavius's hips. His touch is butterfly light and somehow profound.

It makes Octavius a little weak. His toes want to curl up. He stands, staring stupidly.

Snapping out of his stupor, he places a palm to Jedediah’s chest and pushes back. He whispers into his ear, “Do not oversell it. Newly acquired lovers behave this way.” He shakes his head. “Married couples do not.” His lips twist. “In my experience.”

Jedediah’s brow furrows. His expression is bittersweet. “Sounds ta’ me like ya musta had the _wrong_ kind of experience,” he says. His cheeks turning faintly pink, and he immediately retreats from the contact.

He turns back to the Huns, beaming once again.

Uncertain how to proceed whilst keeping his Roman mouth shut, Octavius raises his hand to wave. Drops it. The awkward, uncertain gesture doesn’t suit him.

“Hmm.”

His confidence wobbles, so he folds his arms over his chest. Uncertain where to fix his gaze, he promptly looks away. Glancing down, he fiddles with his skirt, feeling completely out of his depth.

True Romans do not hide.

Feeling the coarse, unfamiliar material of the Stetson rubbing his scalp, he scratches at it, looking everywhere but at the Huns. Instead, he looks to Jedediah and frowns.

Jedediah’s eyes are twice their normal size. The whites of his eyes are showing.

Octavius follows his gaze, and notices his own decorative Roman sleeves.

Jedediah grabs his wrist and yanks it down.

Attila stares, dark eyes fixed directly on Octavius.

The ground trembles slightly as the King of the Huns circles around him slowly, making guttural grunting noises, as though encouraging Octavius to speak.

The other Huns form a gauntlet around them.

Attila stares at Octavius with hard-edged eyes, looking him up and down.

“Her name’s Ockie,” Jedediah pipes up, trying to draw Attila’s attention.

Ignoring the continued intimidation tactics, he beams up at them as though he’s simple-minded and ignorant of the danger.

He casually steps in between Octavius and Attila, keeping an eye peeled on the other Huns.

As he did with the cobra, he compels everyone’s full attention, demanding it, beginning to rock on his feet, and keeps up a steady stream of chatter.

His movements eventually catch their eyes and holds it.

“Sorry, mister. My little lady's awfully shy ‘round strangers, doncha know. It takes her a spell ta’ warm up ta’ folk.”

Attila only grunts, unsatisfied by the explanation. A growl bubbles in his throat. He chuffs, encouraging Octavius to speak for himself.

Changing the subject, Jedediah quickly shouts, “We hail from the good ol’ U.S. of A!”

Octavius turns his head sharply. He does not need to disguise his voice. It comes out a high-pitched denial. “No! I—” Octavius blinks at him. “What? No!”

Jedediah stops sauntering for a moment and nods his head emphatically. “Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“ _No!_ ”

"Be good," Jedediah whispers under a wide smile. He nods with long, exaggerated bobs of his head. “ _Yes_.”

Giving Jedediah a frosty scowl, Octavius bites his tongue. He glares up at the Huns. His fists are clenched, the knuckles on his hand showing white. “I — ye- _ESS_ —”

Octavius yelps with a bounce, grabbing his backside.

Jedediah swatted him on the rump!

Gooseflesh rises against his will. He lifts his chin at Jedediah, he is not amused.

“Bit of a temper, mind.” Jedediah grins a little half-smile, as though apologizing for Octavius. “Feisty as all get-out.”

Octavius does not approve.

He knows it’s an act, that Jedediah is frantically attempting to figure out a way to save them both, but that doesn’t mean he has to like the employed tactics.

Face shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, he glowers, conveying his displeasure.

Lifting his chin, he glares coldly up at the Huns in defiance, giving a look laden with threat.

“You’ll have to forgive all her glowerin’,” Jedediah pipes up noticing the death glare. “Her emotions have been all over the place ever since we found out we’re expectin’.” His hands trace an invisible bump over his flat stomach. "It's the mornin' sickness."

Sweet Pea looks back and forth between Octavius and Jedediah for a moment and then whinnies.

Octavius whips his gaze. His eyes go big, and wide, and round. He sputters.

“Jedediah!” he chastises.

Jedediah glances back at him, all smiles, and Octavius’s heart stutters.

The love lights shining in Jedediah’s eyes slice through his rising temper.

Octavius looks at Jedediah earnestly now, vulnerable.

Both of them wear shy, goofy grins as they gaze at each other.

Unimpressed, Attila says something in a quick, sharp voice. His men silently raise their weapons.

Eyes wide, Jedediah quickly cuts his gaze to the Huns. He jumps in front of Octavius, shielding him, holding out his gloved hands in surrender.

“No! Wait! Wait! Wait! Stop! She’s carryin’ my baby! She’s _pregnant_!”

Attila squints, and holds out his palms to his men, the universal sign for _stop._ He tilts his head from side to side, and then looks to the other Huns.

Conferring with one another, they shake their heads, uncertain of the message Jedediah is trying to get across.

“Baby!” Jedediah clarifies, speaking slowly and loudly, as though talking at a higher register will somehow break the language barrier.

When there is no dawning comprehension from the Huns, Jedediah makes deliberate baby-rocking motions with his arms.

“We’re havin’ a baby!”

Octavius’s face twists, flushing bright red. He hesitates, but then Jedediah reaches out for him and he takes the proffered elbow, the quintessential happy couple beginning a family. Pressing a palm over the armor covering his belly, his fingers spread out like a battle shield. He nods.

Attila sucks in a breath as his mouth drops in a silent _oh_. Humanity flickers in his eyes and he gazes at them in wonder. He hunkers down, squatting on his heels, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes are aglow with an almost childlike excitement.

“BeeBee?”

Jedediah blinks, tilting his head at Attila’s interest.

“Yeah! Baby!” Speaking out of the side of his mouth, he talks directly to Octavius. “I think he likes kids. Now we’re talkin’!”

Octavius squints up at the giant, wary.

Jedediah nods at Attila enthusiastically.

“Baby! That’s right, boy!” Caught up in the excitement of the moment, he backsteps, and wraps his arms around Octavius’s shoulder, squeezing him tight. His hand slides along Octavius's arm to his waist and then moves around it.

Startled, Octavius glances down at the gloved hand resting on his armored stomach, Jedediah clasping him loosely.

Jedediah lifts his palms and counts out five, and then three fingers on the other hand. “Octuplets!”

Attila lifts his hands, stands up, and speaks quickly to his men. They gasp in awe, and then cheer and applaud.

Octavius whips his head toward Jedediah, closely scrutinizing him. His brow furrows.

Jedediah appears positively gleeful over his clever little play on words.

Aghast, Octavius shouts, “Jedediah!”

Jedediah covers Octavius’s mouth with a gloved hand.

Octavius considers biting it. He opts to behave.

“That’s right! Yes, siree Bob! She’s my little _Octo-momma_ ,” Jedediah announces, mouth quirked in a gleeful little smile. The proud papa, he rubs Octavius’s armor-plated stomach with his other hand.

Octavius squeaks through Jedediah’s gloved palm. He chokes, words getting caught in his throat.

Eight children. He pauses to reflect.

Eight _Julias_.

Swallowing hard, the backs of his eyes burn, and he is rendered momentarily speechless.

Jedediah removes his hand from Octavius’s mouth.

Octavius glares.

Attila bellows out a roar of good cheer. His men follow suit. They lift their weapons high into the air while Attila makes congratulatory hand gestures, remarking and praising Jedediah on his manly seed if his complicated sign language is any indication.

The weapons make swishing sounds as they are raised and lowered, raised and lowered.

Octavius pays little heed. He stands very still, eyes far away. His thoughts are wrapped up in eight children.

Jedediah blushes and clears his throat. He grins, a smile that is both brilliant and blinding.

He meets Octavius’s gaze and, by the gods, even though the pregnancy is only a fabrication and _Octavius_ is supposed to be the one pregnant, he appears to be positively glowing over the prospect.

Of eight children.

_Eight!_

Octavius barely survived raising the one. And failed. Miserably. With a glance of bitter grief, he peers down at his sandals.

His mind catches in a perpetual loop.

Eight children.

Eight _Julias_.

He is aggrieved and insulted.

More so because Jedediah knows how Octavius’s little sojourn into the parenting world ended. With Julia banished. Forever.

His little girl.

There’s a place in his heart where his daughter _should_ be, and isn’t. And will never be again. Because he was naive and allowed himself to be persuaded. Because of the wrong choices _he_ made.

He understands Jedediah is getting back at him for the uninvited sexual advances, undesired flirting, and the teasing that’s been thrown his way. Perhaps, rightfully so. Jedediah is forcing Octavius to swallow down some of his own medicine. And Octavius knows he should simply suck it up and take it on the chin.

He’s man enough to endure a bit of good-natured ribbing.

And, yet.

If Jedediah wanted to roast him, he couldn’t have chosen a better subject matter. Or, the worst.

Octavius looks briefly at each and every Hun, his expression eerily calm.

Jedediah stares into Octavius's eyes for several long moments, a little smug. Octavius glares back. Without blinking.

The Huns continue cheering, shaking their weapons in celebration over Jedediah’s sexual prowess.

Bitterness builds in the back of Octavius’s throat, threatening to explode.

The Huns are still cheering.

If Jedediah wants to play, Octavius will play.

If the Huns want to celebrate, he’ll give them something to celebrate about.

Octavius angles his chin to see past the brim of his hat. His hand lifts to possessively press his palm against Jedediah’s chest. With his voice full of exaggerated pride, he nods and announces, “He’s _quite_ the handful.”

Jedediah’s lips part, mouth dropping open in a bark of shock.

Sweet Pea whickers, ears twitching.

Jedediah’s face goes through a series of expressions, turning as red as Octavius’s makeshift skirt. He appears a little weak, knees quaking. It is deeply satisfying.

Attila’s eyes flicker at Octavius while the others cheer raucously at the declaration.

They may or may not have a decent grasp of the English language, but they lean closer, inferring much from Octavius’s proud words.

Jedediah’s sexual prowess is confirmed. They raise their arms, face each other, whoop, and wave their weapons high again.

The barker makes a lewd hand gesture.

Octavius smiles and lifts his chin. He thinks he may have found a kindred soul.

“Woman, that is privileged information!” Jedediah finally shouts, voice squeaking, attempting to carry on the charade.

Octavius sniffs, folding his arms. A sneer colors his words. “Do not shout at me, my love. I’m not deaf. You’re hurting my ears.”

“I ain’t shoutin’!” Jedediah’s voice warbles again, defensive.

Attila is still watching Octavius oddly. It is only then that Octavius stills, realizing that his voice has not been anywhere near that of a woman’s. He’d stopped disguising it.

Well.

His heart thunders in sudden apprehension.

Eyes darting, Octavius clears his throat. In his best imitation of a soft, feminine drawl, he backpedals and says, “What I mean to say is that I remain a devoted wife. Who adores my husband, who has been blessed by the gods.” His eyes widen, still not having fully recovered from his discovery. His palm burns from remembered contact.

He clenches his fist and nods.

“Really, _really_ blessed.”

Jedediah lets out a squawk.

Octavius clears his throat again. Hands behind his back, he rocks back on his heels a little. “I am deeply satisfied.” He flicks his wrist and twirls an invisible lasso over his head. “Whew...” he stammers, and fans himself. “Why, I do declare! Lord o’mercy!”

Jedediah’s hands are balled into tight, twitching fists. In fact, he is twitching all over like a marionette in a windstorm. He slaps a hand over his own mouth in horror, a muffled incoherent screaming sound escaping his throat. His blue eyes are wide and round.

To Jedediah, Octavius is sincere and apologetic.

“They really should consider carving your likeness in marble, darling. I would be envious. If I were a man.” His eyes dart to the side. “For, which. I am not.”

Attila narrows his gaze, making a low, rumbling noise in the back of his throat.

Octavius backs up a step, grabbing Jedediah by the elbow and walking him backward. He reaches and takes the hellbeast’s reins.

Jedediah is scowling at him now, not realizing the ruse is over. He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it, again.

Jedediah continues twitching. He jerks, making trembling claws out of his gloved fingers, as though, more than anything, he wants to ring Octavius’s neck.

Octavius believes Jedediah may be having a brain aneurysm.

Jedediah shakes his head, snapping out of it. He jumps up and down.

“I could kill you right now!” he shouts, losing all trace of his western drawl.

They are obviously destined for a fight, a fight Octavius instigated. They cannot have it here in front of the Huns. He attempts to smooth ruffled feathers.

“Sweetheart…”

“Doncha go, _sweetheartin’_ me, baby cakes! You’re gonna die!”

Jedediah bounces up and down, having a conniption.

“Oh, good. At least it’s not an aneurysm,” Octavius mutters under his breath, rubbing his forehead, the reins still in his hands. He glances up at the Huns, shrugging helplessly. “Forgive him. He isn’t normally like this.”

“I can’t believe you!”

Octavius looks towards the Huns again and nods. “He’s my little rage nugget.”

Jedediah clenches his fist and bites down on it.

Still bouncing, he howls, “Dad-gum it, you! I ain’t _little_!”

Octavius stares up at Attila, supremely affected. His eyes are wide, the whites showing.

“No.” He shakes his head and blows out a breath. “No, he is _not_.”

Jedediah's mouth works, but no words escape. He blusters.

A deep blush blooms across his cheeks, and spreads all the way down his neck.

“Gaaaah!” he screams, bouncing in place. “You're gonna see what rage really looks like when I put the wallop on ya! Come here, sugar drawers!”

Octavius feints left, dodging out of the way. At the same time, he twists and hooks Jedediah around the waist.

He hoists him up on one shoulder.

Off the floor, Jedediah's boots kick uselessly. Arms and legs flail frantically. He lets out an ear-splitting yell.

“Put me down, Mister Grabby Breeches! You are the most — _gaaaah_!”

“My love, I believe it is time to bid your new friends a hasty retreat.”

He jerks his chin meaningfully at Attila, for which he is ignored.

Over Octavius’s shoulder, Jedediah’s jaw is set in a stubborn line.

He snarls a furious near-curse. “I don’t give a hoot and a holler!”

“You will,” Octavius insists, trying to reason with him.

Hands on his hips, Jedediah shouts, “Well, don't ya just think you're _it_ on a stick!” He flails. “Put me down before I seize ya by your dad-gum ears! I’ll beat ya until you can't grow no more!”

“Sounds unorthodox, but intriguing. We shall delve more deeply into these uncharted waters at a later date.”

“I’m gonna bite ya! I’m gonna bite ya right on the hind end!”

“Tempting — yow!” Octavius jumps and shakes off the sting. His feisty cowboy is back in full force. “Jedediah!”

“My privates are private!”

“Eight Julias!” Octavius shouts back. “I was provoked!”

Jedediah bobs up and down on Octavius shoulder.

Octavius hoists him up a little higher in order to keep Jedediah's teeth away from his rump.

He lugs him toward the steed, hustling him up onto the hellbeast’s back.

Sweet Pea tosses her head, ears flattening against her skull. Spooked.

In one fluid motion, Octavius bounds up into the air and onto the prancing horse, directly behind Jedediah. He bites his lip at the sharp sting.

As he lands, the knots Jedediah tied into his paludamentum loosen. The knot in the fabric untangles itself, revealing his ornamental pteruges underneath. His very _Roman_ ornamental pteruges.

His head snaps up.

Attila’s eyes blaze. He roars a roar that shakes the very air around them.

His words are low and harsh and entirely incomprehensible.

Regardless, Octavius interprets the threats well enough. Death, destruction, and dismemberment.

Face grim and set, Octavius pitches forward with a hiss and snatches his paludamentum before it can flutter to the floor.

He unsheathes his sword, making certain the Huns hear the sharp rasp of metal sliding against its scabbard. It is a warning.

Lifting his chin, he looks up through his lashes, past the broad brim of the Stetson.

He lifts his sword in challenge.

If he is to meet his fate, he will meet it like a true Roman. He loses the southern accent and regains his own British-Roman hybrid mix.

“King of the Huns, you will know my wrath!”

The sword hisses, the _whoosh_ of a blade slicing through air.

Having enough, Sweet Pea rears with an irritated snort and bounds forward.

Octavius lets out a bark of surprise at the sudden motion and clings to Jedediah as the hellbeast leaps into a full gallop.

“ _Jupiter—_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends at another cliffhanger. More soon. This section is immense and I knew if I didn't break it up, there was no way to get it posted by the end of April. Thank you for continued your patience. As always, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> I wish to thank my ever amazing, super mega awesome beta reader [CuriousDinosaur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur). ❤❤❤
> 
> Also I would direct your attention to some the truly breathtaking and beautiful fan art was made for me in Chapter 5. And I am still over the moon! You should definitely check it out. You will be glad you did. The artist is [rimuray](http://rimuray.tumblr.com/), and her exclusive Jedtavius Fanart Tumblr page: [rimuray's Jedtavius sideblog.](http://rimudrawsjedtavius.tumblr.com/) Rimuray is also [here ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rimuray/pseuds/Rimuray) on AO3. Amazing, amazing art! Thank you so, so much! I am stunned, humbled and honored. And extremely proud. Beautiful. Simply beautiful. If you like the artist's work, please show them some love! ❤❤❤


	16. A New Sheriff in Town, Part 2

_Later…_

Octavius braces himself.

“Whoa!” Jedediah shouts.

Sparks fly as Sweet Pea continues her mad gallop. She is an out of control fireball, barreling past anything and everything in her path.

“Whoa! Easy, easy!"

Jedediah urges the hellbeast out of the dead run, struggling to bring the panicked steed under control.

He pulls taut at the reins.

Octavius and Jedediah brace themselves as the hellbeast bounces and rears up onto her hind legs with an angry snort.

Jedediah gently but firmly nudges her with his knee.

They are thrown slightly forward when her hooves clop down to meet the floor.

Octavius holds tight to Jedediah’s waist, sword still in hand. Nevertheless, he is mindful, keeping the sharp blade well enough away from cutting into the vulnerable flesh of either of his companions. It's a struggle with the horse’s constant jerking movements.

Sweet Pea rounds and prances, tossing her head up and down.

The whites of her eyes are showing. Her ears are flattened against her skull and she lets out a screaming whinny, puffing and blowing her upset out through her nose.

She bounces up and down on her front hooves, throwing a temper tantrum. Curving her spine, she attempts to buck using her back legs.

"Easy," Jedediah says softly, tugging gently at the reins. “Easy…”

Sweet Pea eventually stops bouncing. She prances about, turning around in a full circle before finally coming to rest.

Her muscles ripple, twitch, and bunch.

Eyes wild, she reaches around her back to bite at Octavius's legs.

Or, makes an impassioned effort.

Octavius's steel greaves protect his calves from the furious nips.

Regardless, he still flinches at each blunt-toothed bite.

_“Ow!”_

Frustrated, the hellbeast tries to tear into his flesh once more to no avail.

“Easy.” Jedediah employs that same soft voice, but there’s an authoritative edge to it now. He clicks his tongue to settle her down.

Sweet Pea stops biting.

Snorting angrily, she lifts her head and prances at the ground on her front legs.

After a beat, she calms. She gives Octavius one more half-hearted nip and then settles down.

“Good girl,” Jedediah praises, leaning over and patting her neck. “Shake it off, now. Shake it off.”

The hellbeast neighs, shaking her mane.

Octavius peers around at their surroundings, eyes roving with military efficiency.

They are safe. For now.

Octavius breathes a sigh of relief. At last having the opportunity, he sheathes his sword. He inclines his head in appreciation even though Jedediah has his head turned and cannot see the gesture.

“Thank you.”

Jedediah whips around in his seat, snatches his Stetson off the top of Octavius’s head, and smacks him with it.

“Ow!” Octavius lifts his arms to shield himself; the movement serves as a reminder of the bite to his posterior. _“_ _Ow!”_

“Dad-gum it, Octavius, what _the_ _hell_ were you thinking?”

Octavius attempts to wrest the battering hat from Jedediah’s grip, but the blows are coming too fast and furious.

“I realized our ruse was unraveling around us and knew I had to do something in order to ward off our would-be assailants until we could make our escape!”

Jedediah stops whopping Octavius with the hat and looks at him blankly. As though Octavius were beyond comprehension, he shakes his head slightly. Baffled and dazed, his mouth moves. He makes a desperate sound as though the strain is too great. “I ain’t talkin’ about you wavin’ your great big, giant sword around like there’s no tomorrow here, and you darn well know it!” He points with the Stetson. “Once more, you know I know you know!”

Octavius crosses his arms over his chest with a sniff. He turns his face away and lifts his chin regally. “It is useless to argue with you. I refuse to be drawn in by your constant gibberish or dignify that incomprehensible babble with an answer.”

“Dignify _this_!” Jedediah smacks him with his hat again.

“Ow!”

“I can't believe you!”

“I can't believe _you!”_ Octavius shouts back, unsettled and angry. He rubs at his arm.

“Nobody needs ta’ know what I’m packin’!”

Octavius arches an eyebrow, eyes wide. His admiration momentarily overrides the anger. Eyes darting, he intones, “You’re packing a great deal.”

Jedediah screams and Octavius sighs.

“I ain't talkin’ ta’ you!”

“Nevertheless, I am talking to _you_!”

It’s been this way since escaping from the Huns. Jedediah twists around and shouts at Octavius; Octavius leans forward and shouts back, holding his ground. Without flinching, voice harsh with grief, he reminds Jedediah that it was _Jedediah_ who began this particular battle when he goaded Octavius into retaliation. Eight children. When Jedediah knows perfectly well how much his disastrous relationship with his estranged daughter affected him.

Each mention of Julia cuts through Jedediah’s fury like a knife. There is a quick flare of compassion behind his eyes and his resolve at being angry and offended wanes.

Octavius finds himself losing momentum with the argument even if it doesn’t stop him from being petty.

He makes a comment on the size of Jedediah’s manhood and Jedediah throws a conniption and proclaims that he’s no longer speaking to him. And then he’ll twist back around and the cycle begins all over again.

Octavius leans forward. _“Eight Julias,_ Jedediah,” he reminds once more, browbeating the point home. He keeps his voice low; it is deceptively calm. “Eight. I shall never willingly put myself in such a precarious role again whether it be real or imaginary. Never again. It is not in me.” Overcome, his voice quivers. He shakes his head. “It never was.”

Jedediah goes very still. After a beat, he grinds his teeth together, but says nothing. A muscle in his jaw works, and he plops the Stetson back on his head. He rests a gloved fist tensely on his own hip. Clamping his jaw shut, he whips back around in his seat. Arms now crossed, he faces forward.

Octavius sighs wearily and frowns. Eyes stinging, he blinks rapidly.

He feels hollowed out. Later thoughts of Julia leave him this way. The corners of his mouth are pulled sharply down. He once again regally lifts his chin against the rising emotions pricking at the backs of his eyes.

Sullen silence falls between them.

The steed stomps her hooves, head bobbing, and Octavius automatically braces himself, bothered the hellbeast will react to the rampaging emotions of her riders and take off again. He lifts his arms and grips Jedediah by the hips, tugging Jedediah flush against him out of desperation.

Lightning shoots through his veins. He stubbornly ignores it.

Jedediah tenses at the contact, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. And, yet. He remains subdued with the air of a man attempting to calm himself.

He becomes quiet and withdrawn.

Whirling back around in his seat, he pulls Octavius out of the numb silence he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into.

“Look,” Jedediah begins. His gaze is worried. He seems to think over his words carefully and then holds up his gloved hands in surrender, shooting Octavius a quelling glance before Octavius can open his mouth. “Alright. You got me fair and square. I was getting back atcha for all the dad-blame flirting you've been doing. You and your comments have been all over the dang place and it ain't something I’m used to or understand.”

“You’re not a child!” Octavius states imperially, quick to interject. There is an edge in his voice that is scarcely a surprise. “Learn.” He eyes Jedediah up and down. “You are perfectly capable.”

Jedediah jerks at the words. He stops cold. Then he narrows his eyes dangerously.

Their angry gazes lock.

Octavius folds his arms over his chest.

He knows he’s being unreasonable, knows he’s baiting Jedediah with something he obviously doesn’t want or isn’t comfortable with, but he isn’t backing down either. “It’s time you grow accustomed to it.”

His voice betrays nothing of his own feelings even if the argument is stripping his soul bare. It comes out bitter.

Dispirited, he turns his head.

Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Jedediah glance at the ceiling. He closes his eyes, having the look of a man trying very hard to rein in his temper. Then he shakes his head as though to gather his composure and block out the baiting. To rise above it.

Abruptly, he comes to life, temper flaring.

“Dagnabit, Octavius!” Jedediah counters, making a sudden fist. “Would ya hold up for a sec?” He flings an arm to the side. “I didn’t push ya in front of the iron horse, here! I played around with your name! Like I done a thousand times before! _Octo._ As in _eight_! Having _eight!_ That’s _it_! That’s _all_ I did!” He shouts animatedly, flinging both arms out to the side now. “And when I hit on _octuplets_ , I figured the more babies we were expectin’, the likelier the Huns would be to let us go and we could be on our way.” He shakes his head. “Stirrin’ up bad memories of your baby girl was never in the cards and never once crossed my mind, honest to God! I don’t —” He slaps his thigh. “I don’t play that kind of game.”

Octavius blinks.

The words are spoken in a rush and on a single breath. Which is amazing, actually. Jedediah’s lung capacity is phenomenal. The confession is explosive: extremely fast, very definitely breathless, but entirely sincere.

At first Octavius refuses to acknowledge the explanation, falling back on old habits and stubbornly holding onto his anger.

And yet it is not long before his gaze flicks to Jedediah. Still feeling hollow, he sees misery on his friend’s face that mirrors his own.

“I’m sorry, alright? I got carried away.”

With an aching heart, Octavius’s resolve begins to waver, wobble. He searches Jedediah’s eyes. Face softening, he lifts his chin against his crumbling apathy.

Jedediah’s brow is creased. He watches Octavius closely with a frown. And then he glances away and lets out an explosive noise under his breath, obviously berating himself for his thoughtlessness.

A faint smile crosses Octavius’s lips. His expression fills with gratitude for the apology even if he finds he cannot — yet — open his mouth, lest grief overwhelm him. His emotions are too close to the surface. Mouth tight, he nods and looks away, casting his eyes down to the ground. His thumb comes up to lightly brush over Jedediah’s leather-covered hip. It is the best he can manage.

Jedediah's body tenses at the uninvited intimacy, but as the moment passes, his muscles relax. He is interpreting the gesture for what it is.

The fight is over.

Something in Octavius's chest clenches, and his throat tightens.

Before long, his attention strays back. He watches Jedediah with a bland expression. It belies the humor building in his eyes.

Craning his neck, he leans forward to conspiratorially whisper in Jedediah’s ear. “You do realize most men would feel flattered to be considered well-endowed by another? That it is a compliment?”

Jedediah whips his head around.

The atmosphere around them shifts.

Octavius’s eyes sparkle and dance. They shine.

His grin is friendly and teasing as the argument begins anew. Only this time, it’s more banter than rage. It is play.

Jedediah lifts his index finger. “That ain’t why ya said whatcha said and we both know it!”

Octavius inhales deeply, tilting his head. He is simply living for the moment now, breathing, enjoying the companionship. His very loud, very mouthy companionship.

Pursing his lips, he shrugs playfully, neither confirming nor denying the statement.

“And I ain’t _most_ men!” Jedediah shouts. “What woulda happened if they were just like you, Mister Measuring Stick, and they wanted ta’ compare notes and they just—” He raises his gloved palms in an unending, rolling circle “— just — just dropped their drawers?”

Octavius thinks about this long and hard, considering the matter gravely. At last. He speaks.

“It would have been any given afternoon with the Senate.”

Jedediah sputters, and Octavius breaks into a wide grin. He laughs and tightens his arms around his companion affectionately. “My poor, dear, sweet, little church mouse.”

“I ain’t little. I ain’t poor. I ain’t sweet. And I’m not a mouse,” Jedediah mumbles.

Octavius shakes his head, clicking his tongue.

He is rather proud of himself, growing accustomed to the simple truth that what Jedediah doesn’t say is equally as important as what he does.

His thumb strokes in affectionate circles over flimsy blue fabric.

Jedediah turns his head and clamps his mouth shut.

Yes, what he doesn't say is quite important indeed.

Trying again, Octavius backpedals. Teasing demurely, his voice dips into a meeker, conciliatory tone. “That is to say, had they wanted to compare notes, as it were, seeing the Huns in all their manly glory would have been a sight to remember.” He cranes his neck, peering at Jedediah. “A transcendent experience.” His voice dips further, back into the imitation of a soft, southern drawl. “Why, I do declare, my young man. I would have been overcome by the vapors.” Only, it comes out _vapas,_ and he fans himself, batting his eyelashes.

“Oh my God!” Jedediah screams up at the ceiling.

Sweet Pea’s ears flick. She prances in a circle, blowing air out through her nose.

They move naturally with the steed, bobbing and swaying with her every move.

Octavius lifts his chin grandly, entirely unapologetic.

Eyes glinting with mischief, he looks back over the distance they've covered. He leans forward again and blandly states in his normal voice, “They will be able to track us by your constant screaming, you realize.”

Jedediah bounces up and down, twisting in his seat. “I don’t care if I’m hung like a bull —”

Octavius blinks owlishly, taken aback. He arches an eyebrow. His eyes go round, wide.

Jedediah smacks him.

“Ow!”

Jedediah continues without missing a beat. “I ain’t, so’ins, ya know! Which ya, _should_ know, Mister Grabby Pants. You had a good enough grip, that’s for sure. I ain’t never!” He lifts his finger. “The point here, amigo, is that you don’t go around tellin’ everything ya know. No matter _how_ ya know it. You don’t get ta’ tell everybody ya meet about my _junk!”_ he whisper-shouts. “From now on, my _package_ is off the table!”

Octavius rubs the feeling back into his arm. He raises both his eyebrows. There is a pronounced gleam in his eyes and mischief in his grin. He is, of course, still teasing.

Jedediah blusters.

“I ain’t talkin’ ta’ you!”

He turns around in his seat, facing forward. He hunkers down and crosses his arms like a petulant child.

It is adorable. Completely and utterly.

Octavius smiles and allows his head to dip forward. He grips Jedediah’s hips and lays his head against his friend’s back, between Jedediah’s shoulder blades. It feels like home. He hums softly, content.

And then he stills, eyes snapping open.

The gesture had been reactive. Unthinking. Comfortable. A respite after a hard won battle.

Now he realizes his mistake and what he’s done.

His entire body goes rigid, bracing himself for the loud rebuke and another hard smack that is certainly to follow. He’s likely to be headbutted over this. Or land on his already abused rump in a daze, having been bucked off the back of the steed.

His heart thunders in his chest.

Jedediah is still quivering. Silent. And yet he makes no move to push Octavius away, which Jedediah certainly has every right to do at this point.

It’s only what he deserves.

Even though Octavius has merely been teasing Jedediah, he’s still been behaving less than honorably. Objectionably. Bawdy. He has not been respectful towards him or gallant.

His friend lifts his head to stare up at the ceiling — a long-suffering gesture — but otherwise does nothing.

Octavius closes his eyes, grateful. He is beginning to suspect that, deep down; (extremely deep down in Jedediah’s case) Jedediah craves touch every bit as much as Octavius does.  

Tilting his head slightly, he rests his forehead against his friend. He can smell the warm, clean scent of him.

Flicking the tip of his tongue against his lips, he can almost taste him again. He wishes to turn Jedediah around. Kiss that stubborn line from his friend’s mouth that he knows is plastered there. Although, he realizes a kiss wouldn’t be enough. This fascination he has isn’t going away. It lingers and only intensifies the longer he remains in Jedediah’s company.

Friends and lovers. He wants this. Badly.

And Jedediah is clearly making an effort to be open to contact despite his comfort level. It is appreciated. And, yet. Octavius simply does not understand Jedediah’s reticence.

Despite what Jedediah may think of the constant flirting, for Octavius, it is the highest compliment he knows how to bestow.

Octavius might have had few true friends in his life. He learned the harsh realities of politics from an early age. Trust was a rare commodity and the tides of power were ever-shifting. Alliances could be formed and severed swiftly. However, he certainly wasn’t ignorant of what others around him shared behind closed doors. Even his adoptive father wasn’t immune.

In his culture, friends often pleasured each other. They made each other feel good. It wasn’t lewd or perverse.

Some of his peers were more intimate with their friends than they were with their own spouses. Their bonds were long-term, emotionally close, and committed.

Sexual gratification is one thing. It can be achieved any number of different ways: by one’s own hand or with a willing partner. The person has always been interchangeable.

And yet to combine the one he feels a true affection for with the act of coupling...

It is beyond comparison.

It is rare, and rarer still between leaders as one of them will inevitably be compelled to lie down and submit to the other. It is unconventional, absolutely; uncommon, unquestionably; carries with it a certain measure of risk, very definitely; but it is not unheard of.

Even if the art of seduction is old hat for Octavius. Well. Of being the  _recipient_ of such attention, that is. It is a new and frightening experience for Jedediah.

Octavius experiences a sudden pang.

The pair of them are from different worlds. Or, rather. Moments in time. With very different life experiences to draw from. And although Jedediah hides behind loud bursts of anger and the flailing of limbs, it is all too evident he has had very few unguarded moments in his life.

The years of powerplays and intrigue Octavius engaged in before winding up here in this museum has made him far too casual on the subject. Sex is sex. It is nothing and means nothing. What he considers teasing and playful comes across overly forward and licentious for Jedediah.

Octavius’s strong sense of honor reasserts itself. His shoulders sag.

With a heavy sigh of regret, Octavius presses his lips against the space between Jedediah’s shoulder blades. An apology for his earlier behavior. The action is tender.

He pulls back.

“Very well,” he murmurs. “If it pleases you.”

He scoots back as far as he is reasonably able to without falling off the back of the steed’s rump. It’s painful. He still feels the burn where Jedediah bit him, a sharp reminder to respect the man and not take him for granted.

Leaning his hands nobly on his own thighs, he sits up straight. He shakes his head, an amused glint in his eye.

* * *

Later…

“So,” Jedediah begins, at last breaking the silence. He steals a glance at Octavius. “Your wife.”

Octavius blinks out of the reverie he’s fallen into. The gentle swaying motion had him half asleep. He perks up. “Yes?”

Jedediah rubs his jaw. “You married her for political reasons.”

Nodding, Octavius leans forward. His gaze bores into Jedediah’s back. “Yes. Among other things.”

“Like…” Jedediah nods slowly, blue eyes steady and serious. “You loved her.”

Octavius compresses his lips and nods. “Once.”

Jedediah mulls over that answer for a moment. He shakes his head. “But not now,” he says in order to clarify.

Shaking his head, Octavius replies simply, “No.”

There is a long pause, and then Jedediah quietly asks, “Why?”

Octavius shrugs again, intentionally vague. Suppressing his emotions, his gaze looks across the distance. Bile rises in his throat, but he swallows down the burning, metallic taste. “I have my reasons.”

Irritated, Jedediah slaps his thigh. He catches Octavius's stare.

“Doggone it, Octavius!”

Gaze intensifying, Octavius looks sharply at Jedediah; he stiffens at the tone. “What?”

“You’re bein’ all squirrelly.”

Defensive, Octavius shakes his head. “I don’t see how. I’m answering your questions.”

Direct and to the point, Jedediah counters, “Yeah, but you’re being cagey about it.” Even more quietly, he asks, “Why?”

Memories of Livia plunge through Octavius’s mind like a blade. He grinds his teeth together. Not answering at first, he feels acutely uncomfortable. On trial.

After a beat, he says, “Perhaps I prefer to keep certain aspects of my life private.”

“Like I wanted to keep certain parts of my anatomy private?” Jedediah rolls his head. “Come on!”

Octavius doesn’t mean to, but his lip curls in a snarl. His gaze is sharp. He glares, but doesn’t answer.

Either Jedediah doesn't notice the chill in Octavius's eyes or he chooses to ignore it. He waits.

Sweet Pea stops walking, ears perked.

After a beat, Jedediah’s face flushes pink. “Fine.”

He turns back around. Flicking his wrist, he gives the reins a snap and clicks his heels against the hellbeast’s side. They lurch forward.

Octavius freezes.

It isn’t fine. The word is spoken too bluntly. Too final.

Octavius sighs.

He studies Jedediah’s tense shoulders in order to distract himself. They look so different without the brown leather vest in the way. The vest Octavius still wears.

Jedediah’s entire back appears different; it certainly is not unpleasant. More solid. His muscles are toned. Strong.

“Every part of you is slim and well-defined,” Octavius marvels, attempting to change the subject. “I don’t believe there is an ounce of fat on you.”

Jedediah stiffens at the compliment. He turns his head. “Clean livin’. Hard work. Exercise.”

Octavius nods once. “It suits you.”

He remains diverted, watching Jedediah for several long moments.

At last, he sighs.

Lips thinning, his voice goes flat when he concedes. “I suppose that was forward of me.” His eyes are wary, distant, devoid of life; they dart. Regardless, he is once again compelled to answer honestly. “What specifically do you want to know?”

There is a moment of silence, and then Jedediah takes a deep breath.

Fascinated, Octavius watches the rise and fall of his shoulders.

Jedediah turns around in his seat to face him.

Octavius tilts his head, both eyebrows lifted in a bland expression.

Taking a deep breath, Jedediah pauses and then seems to deflate. And then, “Nothin.’”

Octavius nods, pleased. He pulls back his shoulders, chin up, eyes burning fiercely.

 _“That,_ I can give you.”

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah is certainly persistent in his non-persistence. He faces forward as they sway and bob on the steed.

“Okay, so if ya could have her back; right here, right now. Would you?”

Octavius shakes his head. “No.”

“What would you do?”

_Have her executed._

Octavius presses his lips firmly together as his throat tightens with emotions he refuses to feel. It shrieks its way through his brain, regardless. He uses every ounce of his considerable will to compose his face. He curbs his tongue in deference to his company. “I would demand a swift divorce.”

There is bitterness in his tone, and Jedediah turns around to look at him.

Noticing, Octavius lifts his mouth in a flickering almost-smile that doesn’t _quite_ reach his gaze. A small thing. He shakes his head at Jedediah, as though the question is unimportant and doesn’t bear thinking about.

His arms tighten around his companion in reassurance.

When he isn’t rebuffed, he leans the side of his head against Jedediah’s back, sighs, and closes his eyes.

* * *

_Later..._

It’s taken a while, several stops and starts, but Jedediah has gotten Octavius to open up about his marriage, although Octavius remains somewhat aloof and guarded. At least in regards to why he no longer has feelings for his wife. Former wife.

“So why didja want somebody else ta’—” Jedediah makes awkward hand gestures, simulating sex. “You know…”

Octavius cranes his neck, peering around at the gesture. His mouth lifts at the corners. He quirks an eyebrow, shaking his head. “You are utterly adorable.”

Suddenly defensive, Jedediah whips around and smacks him. “No, I ain’t!”

Octavius hisses, rubbing the feeling back into his much-abused arm.

* * *

_Later..._

“So what was with her choosing your lovers for you? Why didn't she want ya? Why didn’t you want _her_?”

Octavius watches him blankly, saying nothing.

Agitated, Jedediah doesn’t wait for a response. He pulls at the reins and lifts a leg over the side of the steed, hopping down.

Octavius remains perched where he is.

Taking the reins in his right hand, Jedediah saunters, loosely pulling Sweet Pea and Octavius along.

“I mean, when my folks wed, it was for life. In good times and in bad. Kids out the wazoo, money struggles, hardships, burying their babies when they got sick and died.” He shrugs. “They stuck by one another through it all, ya know? And at the end of the day?" He pauses. "Well, they still loved each other.”

Stricken, Octavius swallows. He smiles a little sadly, thinking that for all of Jedediah’s intelligence, his friend is somewhat naive in the ways of the world.

He sways from side to side upon Sweet Pea’s back.

Mindful of being respectful and delicate despite his beliefs, he eventually shrugs, at a loss. “Sometimes…” Octavius has to pause. He purses his lips and continues softly. “Sometimes individuals fall out of love, Jedediah.”

“That may be, but that ain’t why!” Jedediah stomps his foot, adamant. “It’s ‘cause people do what they do because they want what they want when they want it and don’t bother considering the other person or anybody else!” Jedediah raises his head to look Octavius in the eye. “I ain’t no dummy, Oct. I know how the world works. Folks stray. Happens all the time. But my folks were friends first. Best friends.

“If daddy strayed it would’ve broke momma's heart. So he didn’t do it. He couldn’t have stood to see her cry.” Jedediah takes a breath, and then, as an aside, he adds, “Not to mention that she probably woulda shot him in the _assets_ if he tried.”

Octavius’s eyes bulge. He blinks and looks down at Jedediah. For a brief moment, he tries to form words. Stops. Blinks.

He feels an unhappy, sympathetic twinge in his groin. The ache is so bad, he has to hop down from the steed and walk it off. He marches straddle-legged, and bends forward to pull his pteruges modestly down over his thighs.

Jedediah’s gaze flicks back. He continues walking and shakes his head, looking at Octavius. “Momma didn’t take no guff.”

So, perhaps not so much naïveté as the way Jedediah was raised. Monogamy.

“Fair enough,” Octavius replies softly, inclining his head out of respect. He marches faster to catch up, and then falls into step with him on the other side of the horse.

After a moment to gather his racing thoughts, Octavius ponders, considering how best to explain the intricacies of Roman culture and what, precisely, constituted adultery in his society. According to Roman law, he had been faithful to his wife. He presses his lips together. Former wife.

He takes a deep breath and stops.

They’ve crossed into a corridor that is different from the rest. Sandy-brown, amber-colored light emanates from it. The soft glow spills out into the hall. It is almost welcoming. Almost.

Octavius pulls a face.

It is an Egyptian hall.

 _Egypt_.  

He groans inwardly, remembering the relentless desert heat and the ambitious ruthlessness of a woman with long, black, bluntly cut hair and an openly devious, sensuous smile.  

It seems the ghost of Cleopatra forever haunts his steps.

Octavius steals a glance at Jedediah.

Intrigued, Jedediah wanders just inside the cavernous room.

He is open-mouthed, peeking up and around.

Typical.

Octavius furrows his brow. He slips over to the steed, grabbing the reins Jedediah left dangling and wraps it tightly around his hand.

Slowly, he approaches and cranes his neck forward to peer cautiously into the room.

The simulated catacomb-like hall opens up into a monstrous chamber.

He has the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Sudden dread slithers up Octavius's spine. His skin crawls. The hair on the back of his arms and neck stand on end.

Sweet Pea wickers, flicking her tail.

Alert and wary, Octavius scans the antechamber. He darts his focus to different points in the room, searching for the source of his unease.

All he finds are two gargantuan, imposing stone statues of jackal-headed men. Anubis sentinels. Guardians of the dead.

He swallows hard.

The antechamber appears to be a recreation of the inside of an ancient, golden temple.

A quick perusal reveals a number of  magnificently detailed hieroglyphics. The walls and pillars are adorned with them. The engraved carvings stand out bold in the softened, golden light.

The passage ends, leading into a vast, open chamber. In the center of the room is a sarcophagus housed inside a glass case. A large stone slab covers it. As with the walls and pillars, hieroglyphs are carved into the lid.

Octavius remembers enough about Egypt to know this tomb was built for the elite. Royalty, certainly. The entombed must have been someone of great importance and esteem.

He scoffs, surprised the room is not adorned with copious amounts of treasure.

Just as he pictures precious jewels and chests of coin that _should_ be there, a glint of light catches his eyes. Above the entombed sarcophagus is a golden tablet.

Jedediah leans in close.

Octavius tilts his head.  

“I’m figurin’ that fancy slab hangin’ on the wall over there is what’s causin’ all this mess,” Jedediah whispers. “At least that’s what I reckon is causin’ it. There was some sort of mention of it in the library, but the reading wasn’t very interesting. Pretty dry. Only skimmed a coupla pages.”

Octavius lifts his chin and inhales deeply.  “I am not bringing that cursed relic to Rome.” He swivels his head. “Nor are you taking it back with you to the Old West.”

He refuses to even set eyes on the tablet. Superstitious, he keeps his gaze averted.

Jedediah stares at the beastly thing, awestruck.

Out of his peripheral vision, Octavius believes he sees golden waves of a beckoning light emanate from the relic and intervenes. He lifts his palm to shield Jedediah’s eyes.

Jedediah jerks back, ducking his head out of reach. “‘Tavius!” He bats at Octavius, scuttling sideways. Eyeing him up and down, he says, “Doggone it! What’s got into you?”

Octavius slides his eyes sideways. His eyes flick to the tablet briefly, regarding it as though it is something to be crushed underfoot. He shies his gaze away from it and looks at his friend. “Sense.”

Jedediah frowns. His attention wavers back to the tablet. Lifting his index finger, he points at it. “Maybe if we shaved a coupla pieces off we could hang it around our necks. This could be how we get ourselves to Africa.”

Octavius shivers. “Absolutely not.” His answer is final.

He does not like Egyptian magic. Does not trust it. It is ancient and dark. Black magic. The same curses that he is certain Cleopatra twisted his name into in her final moments.

He turns, and she is there, arms folded.

Regal and formidable, she regards him mildly, cruel amusement catches in her gaze. Pursing her lips, she smirks at him. Her golden armbands glow in the wheat-colored light. A hissing, slithering asp adorns her neck.

Octavius startles at her sudden appearance, the blood draining from his face. Backing up a step, he jumps when he bumps into the hellbeast and she whickers at him.

Octavius whips his head and Cleopatra is gone.

Spooked, he startles again at a loud, reverberating _whump_ that fills the hallway.

As they watch, the sarcophagus leaps inside its glass prison.

Octavius yelps, clutching his armor-plated chest.

Every single instinct he has demands he turn and flee, Roman dignity be damned. That is until Jedediah grips him by the arm.

The coffin leaps again and Jedediah bounces in place.

He twists his palm into his fist, behaving as though this is the greatest thing to ever happen to him.

“Didja see that!  It knows we’re here!”

Octavius lifts his chin, scowling at the sarcophagus.

_It._

_It knows we’re here._

In his mind’s eye, he sees high priests with dark flowing robes performing enchantments not meant for this world.

The sarcophagus jumps a second time, banging against the side of the glass case, rattling and vibrating it.

Jedediah grips his arm again. Octavius grips back, but for an entirely different reason.

The hellbeast clops forward, tucking her large head underneath their arms, attempting to hide behind them both.

Octavius wishes to drag Jedediah from this place.

“It’s like a dad-blame Mexican Jumping Bean, Octy! _Whoo-whee!_ Slap some hot sauce on that puppy. It’s done!”

Octavius blinks and slides his gaze over to his friend, expression deadpan.

Jedediah’s eyes are big and round. Entranced. Fascinated. The thrill of adventure flashes behind his gaze.

Octavius tilts his head. A crease lines his brow.

_Oh, no._

This isn’t a good sign.

“Jedediah,” he begins, and grips Sweet Pea’s reins tighter for security. His grip is so strong his fist shakes. “Perhaps we should —”

Jedediah steps into a shaft of golden light and excitedly plunges into the room before Octavius can finish.

“Blast!”

Octavius slaps the wall and raises his gaze toward the ceiling. He is firmly of the opinion this is the true reason why Jedediah only lived to see age thirty-two.

As though reading his mind, Sweet Pea bobs her head up and down, blowing air out through her nose in agreement.

He spares her a brief glance before leaning his full weight against the archway.

Allowing his head to fall back against the wall, he closes his eyes for a moment and takes several long, steadying breaths.

Leave it to Jedediah to go rushing headlong into the unknown.

He clenches his fists and bounces on the balls of his feet. Shame washes over him for his cowardice. This is not how a Roman behaves.

Lifting his head, he prays. _“Jupiter, I realize he’s excitable and overzealous and extremely impulsive. But he’s so attractive.”_ More reverently, he continues his prayer. _“And he’s mine. Please. Protect him. Protect **us**.” _

He and the steed exchange a quick glance.

Letting out an exasperated breath, he stiffens his spine.

"Jedediah!" he calls. "Stop! Wait for me, I'm coming!"

Gripping his sword hilt in one hand and the hellbeast’s reins in the other, he ventures into the room.

* * *

_Only slightly later…_

Octavius lifts his hand, palm out.

"Come here," he demands, putting his foot down.  He moves cautiously, hugging the wall.

Alert, Sweet Pea’s ears prick. She neighs. Her eyes dart around the room, wary.

"I’m only taking a gander, Ockie.” Hands on his hips, Jedediah says, “Nobody ever died from taking a gander!"

Octavius balls his fists.

“Plenty of fools of have perished thus, you buffoon! Statistically speaking, it rivals poking a sleeping lion with a sharp and pointy stick!”

 _“The Temple of Ahkmenrah,”_ Jedediah reads from a plaque on the wall, ignoring him. His voice sounds like it is echoing through a cave.

He is animated. Happy. Alive.

Octavius desires to keep him this way.

He yelps, almost jumping out of his skin when there is a horrible, bone-chilling scream from the sarcophagus.

Jedediah whips his head.

Sweet Pea cowers behind Octavius; she tugs repeatedly at the reins, desiring to bolt.

“Hey!” Blue eyes wide in revelation, Jedediah points. “There’s somebody in there!”

“Of course there is, you fool!”

Octavius imagines a decayed, skeletal beast with eyeless sockets, bits of flesh dangling loose, and its mouth frozen in a perpetual snarl. It, no doubt, wants to suck out their very souls. Digest them until it is made flesh and whole once more, turning them into nothing but dust.

He shakes himself. “Jedediah, come away!”

The creature continues to scream. It pounds on its coffin.

“That’s a big no-can-do, buckaroo. Somebody’s gotta help!”

Jedediah runs toward the danger.

Octavius bounces up and down, calling on his last hope. He stretches an arm out, fingers splayed.

“But, it’s a **_giant_**!”

* * *

_Later..._

Jedediah’s scream is ear-splitting.

Octavius wheezes out a breath, drawing on his last reserves.

On top of the glass encasement, they push at the lid. They huff and puff, working to pry the stone slab from the glass and slide it off.

It is a fruitless endeavor. Their combined efforts haven’t budged the stone nary an inch.

“Put your back into it!” Jedediah shouts, grimacing. Shoulders pulled tight, his muscles bunch. He trembles from the strain, the veins in his neck bulging.

“If the monster inside this tomb sucks out our souls and leaves us desiccated husks, I am never speaking with you again!” Octavius bellows. He digs his fingers into the minute imperfections of the stone. Straining, his face is an angry shade of red. A furious rumble builds deep within his breast. With a bellow, he pushes with all his might.

Jedediah had gotten him up here. Octavius isn’t quite certain how.

“Stop your bellyachin’, ya big baby, and keep pushing!” Jedediah waves his arm dismissively.  “It’s fine!”

Octavius bites back a snarl.

“Don’t you tell me _it’s fine,_ Jedediah! It is evidently _not_ fine! Creatures that mean us no harm do not roar like this!”

“Less yappin' and more shovin’, doggone it’!”

The glass encasement rattles, vibrating them.

Jedediah’s eyes light up. He holds tight as the glass case rocks violently back and forth. Riding it out, he shouts, “It’s like a buckin’ bronco!”

The entombed creature screams.

Octavius screeches, at the end of his courage.

Exasperated at the constant critique of their abilities, Jedediah stops pushing at the lid and squats down. He repeatedly slaps at the stone with the flat of his gloved palm. “Dagnabit, but I can’t hear myself think! Hush you, we’re doin’ our best. It ain’t our fault ya made us bite-sized!”

Octavius shakes his head, eyes wide. Dazed, he shivers, holding onto the lid for dear life. “I pray you not say that word.”

“What word?”

“ _Bite._ ”

Jedediah glances back and forth between Octavius and the slab. He gives Octavius a look of surprise as though seeing him for the first time. He blinks. Hesitating, there is uncertainty in his gaze.

And then his mouth tightens with fury. Lightning flashes in his eyes, and he squares his shoulders.

The encasement rattles and shakes. There is a thump as the monster yells out a muffled roar, demanding to be let out.

Jedediah doesn’t even flinch. He resumes slapping angrily at the stone. To the creature, he shouts, “That’s it! Now you gone and done it!  You scared Octy!”

Octavius pops his head up. “I’m not afraid!” he vehemently declares with false pride.

Jedediah’s eyes darken. He shifts his focus back to the vibrating stone lid and its roaring occupant.

“I oughta tan your hide!  Now you hush up right quick!”

The monster bellows.

“Now don’t you be sassin’ me, boy!” He crouches, and resumes slapping his gloved palm down against the stone. “You don’t know me and I ain’t taking any of your guff!”

Octavius winces at the chastising, strident tone Jedediah is taking with a very clearly enraged supernatural being. “Jedediah…”

Jedediah waves his hand. “Not now, Oct. I’m busy.” On all fours he shouts at the slab. _“Quiet!”_

The screaming abruptly stops.

Together, they strain their ears for any sound. Nothing.

They climb to their feet.

Jedediah bends at the waist to brush the dust off his pant legs. He spares a glance at Octavius and nods. Satisfied, he rests his hands on his hips. “There. Ya see? You just gotta be assertive and grab the bull by the horns.”

The encasement bucks.

There is an ominous crack, and it sounds like the sarcophagus may split itself open.

They both scream, jerked off balance. Lifted up by the vibrations of the rocking glass case, they nearly topple over the side of the tomb.

* * *

_Only slightly later…_

Spent, they lie flat on their backs. Still on top of the stone lid, they ride out the constant, jarring waves coming from the glass encasement, listening to the guttural roars.

Chest heaving, Octavius huffs out a shuddering breath. Sweat beads across his forehead.

Jedediah pants, covering his face with a shaky forearm.

“Hey, Ockie?” He sounds pitiful.

Octavius glances sideways at him. “Hmm?”

After a beat, Jedediah lowers his arm. He rolls his head to the side to peer over at Octavius.“You know how ya said that being small didn’t mean a thing. That it is just a state of mind?”

It isn’t precisely what Octavius said, but close enough. He nods, still taking in large, heaving gulps of air. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s a load of bull!” Jedediah pulls a face. “I think I now understand what a piñata feels like. Dad-gum!”

Octavius huffs; he rolls his eyes.

The stone slab bucks under them. They ride out the vibrations, only getting lifted up from their sprawled positions once.

“I never said we were not faced with limitations. Merely that we should not let our limitations define us.”

Jedediah waves away the clarification. “Yeah, yeah…”

They lie quietly once more, each attempting to catch his breath.

Below them Sweet Pea whinnies unhappily from the floor. Octavius rolls over to the edge, sparing her a glance. She flicks her tail, but she isn’t running away.

Jedediah groans beside him, shifting his limbs slowly. A look of pain crosses his face.

“Not only do I feel like a busted up piñata from all that heave-ho’ing. I think I done strained my goody thing.” He rolls his head from side to side. “I ain’t never havin’ kids.”

“Having children is overrated." Octavius's tone is dismissive. Sullen. He forces himself not to dwell on the sacrifices, disappointments, and heartaches that come with raising a child.

Jedediah shrugs. He wiggles painfully, attempting to find a comfortable position. There doesn’t seem to be one. “I wouldn’t know, would I? Ain’t like I got much of a say. Ain’t likely it’s happenin’ _now_. Egypt’s done broke me.”

Octavius pauses and rolls his head. He blinks. “I think we were well beyond the point of fathering children, regardless, dear one.” He frowns. “Considering we haven’t been alive in centuries.”

Jedediah stares straight ahead, expression grim. He scratches his brow with the back of his gloved thumb. “Yeah. I guess…”

Octavius stills. He observes Jedediah thoughtfully, sensing he’s missing something vitally important.

Feeling watched, Jedediah rolls his head to the side. He frowns at Octavius for a long moment, and then turns his head to stare up at the ceiling.

Comprehension dawns.

Octavius’s heart leaps into his throat. He barely feels the constant bucking underneath them.

“You —” He pauses a moment to wet his lips and thinks back to Jedediah’s glowing face when he announced they were expecting. The proud, yet bashful glances. How he had gotten carried away in the heat of the moment. Over the prospect of eight children. “You wanted children.”

Startled, Jedediah blinks over at him. Vulnerability shines from his gaze; his jaw is set. Swallowing, he watches Octavius for a few breaths longer, and then looks sharply away to stare back up at the ceiling.

_By the gods._

After a beat, Jedediah nods.

“Eventually, I did. After I retired from exploring and all, and got settled down with a plot of land. I retired. Bought a home. Got _that_ part right, at least. But then got pulled back in. One last run to help a friend get set up in the fur trading business. A greenhorn.” He shrugs. Glancing down at the buttons on his shirt, he offers sadly, “Reckon it wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

Jedediah’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

Octavius frowns and lifts his head. He blinks.

The bucking and roaring underneath them is a mere irritant now, the cursed dead be damned. This is too important.

It is something he hadn’t expected. Hadn’t guessed. Jedediah. Wanting children. A family of his own.

Octavius draws in a ragged breath as he considers this new development. He thinks about it long and hard.

His mouth compresses into an uneven line. He turns his head away sharply, gazing up at the golden Egyptian ceiling. Face grim, his throat works. It makes a clicking noise when he swallows.

Without permitting himself to think about it further, he turns his head. “There is always adoption,” he advises softly.

Jedediah huffs out a breath in annoyance. Pressing his lips together, he remains silent for a few moments. His mouth tightens. “Yeah. I suppose.”

The glass encasement rocks under them. Muffled screams shout from below, demanding to be let out. The sound reverberates, almost humming through their bodies.

Jedediah cocks his head to the side. He stares at the ceiling, utterly motionless.

After a few moments of silent contemplation, he finally says, “If I adopted, I think I’d want one of the ones that ain’t considered adoptable.” He stares off into the distance. “A damaged one. Scarred, maybe. Or one they said was unlovable. The runt of the litter. One of the ones nobody else wanted. Because they didn’t fit into any specific type or mold.”

Octavius turns his head, turns back. “That sounds like you.”

“What?” Jedediah asks. His normally soft voice is harsh. Sharp. Defensive. “That nobody wanted me or that I want what nobody else wanted?”

“Somebody wants you,” Octavius says softly, rolling his head to stare pointedly at Jedediah.

Jedediah huffs. “Even though I want kids?” he demands sarcastically.

Octavius nods, sincere. “Yes. Even then.”

Jedediah stills. His brow creases. Squinting, he tilts his head. The tips of his ears and nose color a bright red. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down furiously. He trembles, the corners of his mouth pulled down.

“Jedediah?” Octavius whispers, worried.

Jedediah’s eyes are bright. Vulnerable. They shine.

He lifts a trembling hand to his face and lets out a hitching breath. His other hand, which has laid flat against his chest, curls into a fist above his heart. He lets out a pained whimper and turns on his side, away from Octavius.

Octavius scoots closer, afraid to touch. His chin quivers in response to Jedediah’s grief. Heart aching, he mourns the loss of a life unlived, cut short before its time. Of what _could_ have been and never was.

Even in Jedediah’s few moments of weakness, Octavius has never seen anyone so determined to remain strong and handle everything all by himself. The man is self-reliant to a fault.

Octavius wonders how often Jedediah had been called upon to be the strong one, the reliable one, the one to fix each problem that arose even though it should never have been his to fix.

Inching forward, Octavius lifts his hand to Jedediah's hair and gently combs through the end strands. “Sshh. Don’t cry.”

Even as he speaks the words, Octavius feels a lump forming in his throat. Tears burn the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall.

How long had Jedediah kept this secret pain inside? And how could Octavius say he remain strong now when all hope for a normal life is lost.

_“If you need ta’ cry, then cry. I won't think less of ya.”_

Jedediah won’t look at him. His body trembles, holding in sounds of anguish. Holding himself together.

Octavius brushes the blond hair away from Jedediah’s neck, feeling the tense muscle there. He lifts his other hand slowly to rest it on Jedediah’s upper arm, thumb stroking against the blue sleeve.

“I’m here,” Octavius whispers tenderly. “I am here.”

While the stone continues to shake and rattle beneath them, Octavius holds them steady. Despite where they are and what lies below, he resolves to remain strong enough for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a special thank you and shout out to my beta, CuriousDinosaur. You are a treasure! ♥ Thank you for your insight, cheer-leading, hand-holding, and laugh-a-minute chats!
> 
> Also, RL is rearing it's ugly head again. A medical procedure is coming up for me and I confess I've been lagging behind due to concerns over that. Dwelling. Ugh. 
> 
> However, I will do my utmost to get a chapter posted in June and get these boys back to their own dioramas. I dislike dragging you all along. I wasn't lying when I said this chapter is huge. *pant pant*
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own and I do thank you for your continued patience.


	17. A New Sheriff in Town, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new sheriff is revealed. Jedediah adopts.

_Only slightly later…_

Octavius hovers close, waiting for Jedediah to relax.

Needing some task to perform to make him feel like he’s making some positive contribution, he lifts both his arms and blindly works at untying the neckerchief from around his own neck. In all the chaos, he had forgotten about the neckerchief and the fact Jedediah had tied it there to hide his masculine features from the Huns.

Once the knot is loosened, it proves easy work. He slides it off and gingerly loops it back around Jedediah’s neck where it belongs, tying it back in place. He worries with the material, fiddling, positioning the neckerchief until he is satisfied that it looks just so. Quite handsome.

There is no conversation.

Eventually the tension in Jedediah’s muscles loosens and he calms. His face is woefully unhappy, eyes half-sunken and flat, but there were never any tears. He’s kept them at bay.

Jedediah’s sorrow brings a hot thickness to Octavius’s throat. His mouth draws down in a bow of empathy.

The stone slab continues to rattle and shake beneath them, but Octavius now gives it little mind.

He gently brushes a wild strand of hair from Jedediah’s eyes and attempts to tame the rebellious piece by tucking it behind Jedediah’s ear.

His hand lingers, moving to rest on the back of Jedediah’s neck.

The wispy strand of blond hair lifts on its own.

Octavius’s mind snaps to attention, drawn by a feeling that something is very close and is watching them.

Gooseflesh pebbles his skin as he registers a large pocket of displaced air parting the atmosphere.

There is a squealing sound of stone scraping together and Octavius senses the weight of eyes staring at his back.

He stills.

Hair standing on end, his heart thuds too loudly in his chest.

Eyes darting, he fights the instinctual urge to snap his head around and confront the danger.  He does not wish to alert whatever horror is standing behind him that he’s sensed its presence. Not yet.

His ears are pricked for the slightest sound.

A noise erupts on their far left, but he continues staring straight ahead.

Jedediah cuts Octavius a sharp look, blushing deeply. Oblivious. He scowls and half-heartedly pushes Octavius’s hand from the back of his neck. Pent up breath escapes him in an explosive sigh of exasperation.

“Doggone it, Oct—”

Octavius holds up his hand stiffly — the universal signal for _quiet_.

He can tell Jedediah wants to shift his body around and argue, but his friend simply takes his cue from Octavius and remains silent, studying him.

Octavius glances down. Their gazes lock.

And then Jedediah’s eyes widen, lips parting in a sudden silent, _oh_ of understanding. He obeys. Perhaps he recognizes that unmistakable feeling of dread also. Or he’s simply responding to Octavius’s body language. Either way, Octavius is grateful he won’t be drawing even more attention by having to explain.

He gives Jedediah's shoulder a light squeeze. Turning from him, he darts his gaze with a scowl.

Visually sweeping their surroundings, he attempts to look everywhere at once. He catches movement from the corner of his eye and looks up, tracking vague, twisting shadows writhing high on the golden ceiling.

Faltering, he steels himself, mouth automatically curling in a defensive sneer.

“Jedediah,” Octavius calmly intones. He gentles his voice. It is in sharp contrast to the mask he now wears: cold, callous, and intimidating.

He dips his head close to his friend’s ear, thumb brushing Jedediah’s flimsy blue sleeve. “We are being hunted. And we are leaving. Now.”

His tone dictates no rebuke.

Jedediah nods once, mouth compressed.

Feeling as though in a dream, Octavius pushes up on his thighs, standing, and gently grips Jedediah by the shoulders, helping him up.

With slow, casual movements he removes the brown leather vest Jedediah had lent him and works Jedediah back into it.

Jedediah gives him a strange, funny sort of look, angling his neck to stare at the proprietary hand gripping his shoulders.

Annoyed, he wrests himself free of the grip just as a sound smashes behind them. It is made up of a deafening screech and an equally loud crunching-sound, as though stone is separating with immense force. It is so strong it vibrates even the stone slab beneath their feet.

They stop moving and listen to the twin _boom, boom, booming_ of heavy footsteps. The noise ends directly behind them.

The creature held captive inside the tomb roars as darkness blankets the room, extinguishing the light.

Two resounding thuds rock the foundations of the floor.

And then.

Silence.

Oh so calmly, Octavius and Jedediah turn around with measured, even steps.

They look up, up, and _up._

And then they take a collective step backward.

The armed jackal-headed statues loom over them.

Bent forward in a half kneeling position, the statues block the exit back into the antechamber, their golden shendyts catching the light behind them.

The statues are alive and well and —

Not breathing.

Octavius cannot see the rise and fall of their chests.

Growling rumbles out of the pair’s throat in a slow rolling pitch. The sound is so deep it comes out a _click_ , _click_ , _click_.  

Ears pricked and sharply pointed forward, the creatures stare at them intently. Their almond-shaped eyes do not blink, having remained smooth and polished stone.

Octavius’s own eyes are wide.  Face grim, his hands suddenly ball into fists. He lifts his head and shouts to no one in particular, “I don’t like Egypt!” His shout comes out a near-wail.

One of the Anubis statues turns its head toward him, displaying a long, pointed lupine muzzle. The lappets from it’s golden nemes headdress sway on its shoulders.

Octavius cuts his gaze to Jedediah and finds all the color drained from his face. His skin has gone the ashen tone of a corpse.

Jedediah doesn't move. Doesn’t blink. Precisely like the living statues.

Only he isn’t transfixed by the dog-headed guards like any sensible man. No. He is staring vacant-eyed at the colossally immense spears they hold in their all-too-human hands.

Jedediah sucks in a breath and then suddenly begins gasping wildly for air.

_Oh._

Octavius’s heart lurches as panic begins howling in his mind.

_Oh. Oh, no, no, no._

A wave of vibration rattles the glass encasement under their feet and they are momentarily lifted into the air as the creature entombed beneath them roars, demanding its release.

A flash of anger burns away Octavius’s fear. Scowling, he ignores his shaking hands.

In a temper, he stomps his sandaled foot down on the lid and grabs hold of Jedediah who — alarmingly — does not protest.

Securing Jedediah by the shoulders, he rapidly marches him backward.

They do not make it far.

He skids to a stop, spinning and halting Jedediah in the process. Twisting around, he scrambles back the way they came before Jedediah is marched straight over the edge of the stone slab.  

The fall wouldn't kill him, but that is hardly beside the point.

Sweet Pea whinnies plaintively.

Octavius peers over the side, blood pulsing in his ears. He curses, noticing he's forgotten to secure her. Again.

He stomps his foot once more.

“Blast!”

She hasn’t bolted. Not yet. However, she is slowly backing up, muscles in her back rippling and bunching with rapidly building tension.

Her nostrils flare, and she begins to dance and whirl, the whites of her eyes showing all around both irises. She blows hard through her nose, quaking.

 _Remembering_.

Octavius is uncertain if this is the first time for the horse to get pulled under by the tide of history, but he certainly isn’t about to take chances by dropping either himself or Jedediah onto the steed’s back, and riding between the parted legs of the sentinels while she is in such a state.

He points at the hellbeast, and commands, “Stay where you bloody well are!”

It breaks her focus. She blinks and looks over sharply.

Backing up, Octavius turns and abruptly pulls the still unresponsive Jedediah close until they are standing chest to chest.

Jedediah tenses against the contact.

His eyes have a jumpy quality about them. Shifting his weight, he lifts his elbow, attempting to break free of the grip. He twists wildly, kicking at Octavius’s legs. His expression still hasn’t changed; he’s staring at the spears, unseeing of anything else.

He wriggles some more and Octavius tightens his grip, shaking him, forcing Jedediah to lock gazes.

Octavius lifts his hands and clasps Jedediah by the sides of his face.

He is abruptly aware of his own breathing, which is too fast and more than a little alarmed.

Jedediah's shoulders jerk underneath Octavius’s hands, shouting in a rapidfire language Octavius does not understand. A barrage of repeated words. Whatever their meaning, Octavius is certain they are Comanche.

“Jedediah!” Octavius commands, gripping him tightly. He wills his features into a ruthless, uncaring mask. Cold. Dispassionate. It pushes the fear from his eyes.

Jedediah stills at his name, stiffening with new tension. He gradually shifts his focus to Octavius.

Octavius’s gaze bores into him. “You are with me now. And I will not leave you.”

Jedediah’s blue eyes regain their focus.

Octavius allows all of his emotions to play over his face. Terror, vulnerability, fondness, affection, esteem, sympathy, tenderness, trust, and hope.

“Please,” he says, and shakes his head, setting his jaw. “Do not leave _me.”_

Jedediah blinks rapidly several times, watching him. Licking his lips, he swallows with difficulty, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he glances at the gargantuan spears once more before cutting his gaze back to Octavius.

His face blooms a brilliant shade of scarlet as he takes in how closely they are standing. A defiant light ignites behind his eyes. A good sign.

Jedediah grimaces, wriggling loose from Octavius’s grip. He presses his hands against Octavius’s armor-plated chest and gives a squirming, frantic push.

“I done told ya I ain’t no dainty flower and I meant it. Gosh-darnit, Oct. I’m here. Rattled a smidge, make no mistake.” His jaw juts out. “But I’m here. God! Doncha go getting started with your Roman melodrama just ‘cause I had me a moment.”

Octavius eyes him warily, willing Jedediah all the way back. He must be certain.

Jedediah swallows and then nods, steady and sure. “I’m here,” he says softly. “I am. Ain’t goin’ nowhere. Ain’t quittin’ you.”

After a moment of intense scrutiny, a slow smile spreads across Octavius’s face. He nods and backs away, grateful.

“Alright.” He concedes with a nod. “I was afraid.”

Jedediah bobs his head up and down. “Me, too, compadre. But I’m here. Ain’t leaving ya.”

They turn back around.

The jackal guards are simply crouched there, still bent low. Haven’t moved a muscle. They merely glare down with fierce, wide, unblinking eyes. They tower over Octavius and Jedediah, dwarfing them a thousand times over, covering them with their immense shadows while the cursed creature continues shouting and pounding on its coffin.

After a moment’s hesitation, Octavius steels himself.

“Right.”

He approaches the Anubis statues boldly rather than with trepidation, determined to remain strong and unruffled in the face of this Egyptian threat.  

His lips pull downward in a deep scowl. He unsheathes his sword, eyes blazing a warning at the Anubis sentinels.

He is joined by Jedediah.

Working as a team, they position themselves so they are standing back to back.

Jedediah grimly unholsters his weapons. He stands with both his guns raised at an angle, legs spread in a shooter’s stance. The muzzles of his weapons proceed him, his gloved fingers on the trigger guards.

Octavius cranes his neck. Pausing, he eyes Jedediah askance, and cuts his gaze to the guns with a flat expression and an ironic sense of puzzlement. His confidence wobbles.

“Hmm.” He debates whether to remind Jedediah that his guns won’t fire.

Sense wins out over caution, and he does.

Jedediah shakes his head, chin stuck out stubbornly. “The dog things don’t know that.”

“Hmm.”

They need a plan.

For all of his frenzied plotting, his mind draws a blank, only conjuring up pathetically implausible stratagems that will not help them.

“We need a plan,” he announces.

Jedediah shakes his head, attention riveted on the jackal-headed guards. He bounces a little, clenching and unclenching his hands around his guns.

“I got nothin.’”

Octavius deflates.

And then he has an idea. He bends at the waist and fumbles for the dagger he’s bound to his thigh, hidden.

Working one-handed, he unstraps the blade, palms it, and passes it to Jedediah. It seems a mere toothpick in comparison to these monstrous entities, but they must make do with what they have.

“Have a dagger,” he says.

Jedediah pivots and glances down at the blade. He stares at it as though it is a foreign object. “What am I supposed ta’ do with this?” he asks, tone affecting puzzlement.

Octavius points his finger toward the dagger’s sharp tip. The blade glitters dangerously in the dim light.

Jedediah follows the direction of his finger.

Octavius gives a brief weapons training synopsis.

“Pointy end goes in your enemy.”

Jedediah whips his head, cutting Octavius a sour look. His lips thin into a line. He reholsters his own ineffective weapons with two expert double flips.

“Gee, Oct,” he says a little too brightly, keeping his obvious annoyance out of his voice. He takes a deep breath. “Thanks.” He eyes the dagger warily. There is a short, uncomfortable silence while he takes the dagger’s measure. At last he pushes the blade aside. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Tell me you’re not a pacifist.”

Jedediah’s eyes flick to him. “I am, kinda, yeah, actually.” He shakes his head. “Not really. No.” Which is not an answer at all.

“Can you be anymore vague,” Octavius scoffs.

Jedediah dips his head, looking at his boots. Under his breath, he says, “It’s so _tiny.”_

Octavius captures Jedediah’s gaze, lips compressing. Face grim, he considers, hesitates, reconsiders, and then lifts his sword. He turns it around, carefully offering Jedediah the sword, hilt-first. “Then have a sword.” He takes the dagger back with his other hand.

Jedediah’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Hesitantly, he takes it, hefts it, and then cautiously tests the edge of the blade against his gloved thumb.

He eyeballs the dagger, attention still diverting between the two weapons.

At last, Jedediah comments, “Mine’s bigger.”

Eyes staring flat, Octavius looks at Jedediah. “Right. Now you’re just bragging.”

Jedediah slaps his leather-covered thigh in aggravation.

A twinkle appears in Octavius’s eyes. He lifts his chin regally.

“Mine may be smaller, but I can guarantee you it gets the job done.”

Jedediah rolls his head. “Ah, come on!” he almost whines. His eyes drift back to the dagger. He glances once more at the sword. “Okay. Well, now I feel bad.” He hands the sword back over, and yanks the dagger out of Octavius’s grasp.

Just as Octavius is rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of the give and take, he sees something that shakes him to his very core.

Jedediah pulls at his gloves one finger at a time, taking them off with a casual sensuality that traps the air inside Octavius’s lungs.

Octavius watches appreciatively as Jedediah slips one brown leather glove off, and then the other. He slides them, one-handed, into his back pocket.

Speechless, Octavius’s gaze smolders.

In Rome, fingers were adorned with gold and fine jewels. So much so that Octavius found them distracting. Silly, really. Gaudy. Ostentatious. A form of self-aggrandizement. Members of his senate were sometimes more bejeweled than their wives.

Jedediah’s fingers are plain. No finery. No gold. No jewels of any kind.

He has the hands of a pauper. The noteworthy exception is that his hands are clean and his fingernails are well maintained: short and neatly trimmed.

Octavius’s breath hitches when fingers flex, curling briefly into fists, observing bone and muscle working beneath the skin. The signs of strength.

Even though it appears to be a societal norm within Jedediah’s culture to keep one’s hands covered, somewhere in the back of Octavius’s mind, he’d half-imagined some hidden imperfection. A deformity of some kind.

Jedediah’s hands are flawless.

Octavius observes the faint lines of veins running up Jedediah’s arms. They are akin to markings upon maps; rivers leading the path to Jedediah’s heart.

His fingers twitch at the thought of opening Jedediah’s cuffed sleeve and tracing those lines.

For Jedediah, this is practically naked. Octavius inwardly shakes his head, ridding himself of such carnal musings.

He glances up at Jedediah’s face, concerned that he does not seem at all rattled by this threat to his virtue.

Sidling closer, he leans forward, enraptured. He realizes he should show some modicum of decorum. Only the hands are _right there_. Exposed. He will not touch — he has that much self restraint —  but he continues to stare, committing the sight to memory.

These are the same hands that exchanged painful punches that sent him stumbling halfway across the room, the hands that deftly hogtied him, pulled at reins, caught Octavius before he could fall from the bookshelf...

Jedediah catches Octavius’s stare, his closeness. “Whataya doing?

Octavius jerks back.

Caught, he hadn’t realized he was hovering. He first he attempts to perfect an unaffected air, as though he hasn’t been ogling, looking anywhere but at those exquisite hands.

He doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. He considers.

Nodding at Jedediah’s exposed hands, he clears his throat and calmly says, “Doesn’t that go against your —” Octavius rolls his wrist. He is of noble blood. He can be regal. “— er, beliefs?”

Jedediah squints. “Huh?” he asks eloquently.

Octavius nods again. “Your hands. You always keep them covered. For modesty.”

Jedediah blinks. “Modesty?” He glances down at his bare hands. “Ain’t got nothing to do with modesty. It’s practical. The leather gloves protect my fingers so ropes don’t go cutting into my skin.”

Octavius's lips part in a silent, _ah._ He feels somewhat foolish. Tilting his head, he cannot keep his eyes away. He darts his gaze up. “And your women?”

Jedediah’s brow crinkles. He looks confused. “What women!”

“The women from your culture. Everyone in the Old West wears gloves, it seems.”

Jedediah blinks. “They wear gloves for the same reasons I do. And for fashion. Men do it, too. Just depends on how highfalutin they are and for what occasion.”

"Oh.” Octavius very definitely feels foolish. Well now that they have that sorted. “You..." Octavius begins. He wets his lips, glancing back down at exposed skin. "You have really nice hands," he says. His voice comes out low and smokey. It cannot be helped. He’s never realized he had quite this level of fascination with Jedediah’s hands before.

Opening his mouth, Jedediah closes it again, giving Octavius another surprised glance. "Thanks."

Octavius lifts his gaze and smiles.

Jedediah’s mouth quirks. He truly does have the most delectable-looking lips.

“It’s just I’ve never seen your hands,” Octavius interjects, still flummoxed.

In a daze, his mind churns over everything he finds delectable about Jedediah. It’s a long list.

He may have hummed softly, going doe-eyed.

Jedediah gives him a sour look of exasperation _._

Octavius shakes his head, palms out. “I’m not flirting with you. I am merely making observations out loud.”

Jedediah works his jaw. “That’s still flirting, kemosabe.”

“No, it isn’t!” Octavius denies vehemently.

Jedediah’s eyes bulge. “Oh my God. You’re angling to try and find a loophole so you can continue flirting with me, ain'tcha? I can’t believe you!”

The Anubis warriors growl, remaining absolutely still.

Octavius thrusts his sword out.

Jedediah holds the dagger in front of him, fingers curling around the hilt.

After a beat, he pauses and pulls another sour face.

“Um, Octavius,” he begins calmly.

“Yes?”

There is a brief pause, and then, very low and intense, Jedediah whispers, “Where’s this knife been?”

Octavius cuts his gaze to Jedediah. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s…” Jedediah’s face puckers. He turns the dagger over and says, “It’s warm.”

“I’ve had it strapped to my thigh.”

Octavius glances down, turns his leg out, and points.

Jedediah looks up sharply, dumbfounded.

“My thigh,” Octavius repeats, unsure if Jedediah heard him. His eyes flick down, urging Jedediah’s own eyes to do the same.

Jedediah goes rigid with surprise. He spares Octavius a glance. With eyes preternaturally calm, he shuts his mouth tight. “Your...thigh.”

They each hold the tension for a moment.

“My…” Octavius points again, momentarily losing his confidence. Uncertainty wavers across his face. Off balance, he shifts his weight. He teeters, wobbles, keeping his leg turned out so Jedediah can inspect the leather cord and sheath. “Yes, my thigh.”

A touch of color splashes across Jedediah’s face once more.

Octavius feels that heat spread across his own cheeks when Jedediah’s eyes slowly crawls toward the skin of his inner thigh.

Jedediah’s gaze lingers. His voice softens. “Oh, doggone it...”

Octavius’s heart stutters, focus intensifying.

Jedediah whips his gaze away, face changing color, going from a very lively rosy hue to a fiery red. “Dagnabit!” He bounces up and down, clenching his hands, shouting, “Whataya showing me for!”

“You asked!”

With sharp, jerky movements, Jedediah tucks the dagger into his belt. His expression is businesslike as he silently slips the gloves from his back pocket and yanks them back over his hands.

Octavius feels aggrieved. Surely, Jedediah must have seen the dagger hidden.

Jedediah stubbornly has his gazed fixed on the jackal-headed guards.

At last, he slides his eyes to Octavius, and flicks his wrist, inspecting the blade. “Whataya even need this dinky thing for anyway?”

Compressing his mouth, Octavius lifts his chin regally. “It is my final defense against betrayal.”

Jedediah whips his head, but Octavius refuses to say more on the matter. Sensing this, Jedediah closes his mouth.

The Anubis figures continue to glare back with their inhuman, fixed wide-eyed stares and growl in that deep, resonating _click, click, click_ low in their throats.  They stand poised, their impressively muscled bodies coiled for action.

Jedediah cranes his neck over. “Whataya think they’re waiting for?”

Octavius shakes his head, uncertain. “I don’t know.”

He expounds on the knowledge he has, offering it freely.

“They are modeled in the likeness of Anubis, the god and protector of the dead. The Egyptians knew him as Anpu, or Inpu.

“Wild dogs were opportunistic scavengers and were often observed patrolling near cemeteries.

“They,” Octavius continues. He dips his chin and points toward the growling stone statues with his sword, “They are associated with death.”

“Okay,” Jedediah says, staring. “I like dogs.” He switches the blade from one hand to the other, fidgeting in place. “So what happens when there’s two of ‘em?  Are they Anubises? Anubi?”

Octavius stops glaring at the sentinels and gives Jedediah a hard stare, expression deadpan.

“Look.” Jedediah sets his jaw. “They didn’t go around teachin’ the plural of Anubis in school!” Only it comes out _shool,_ Jedediah mocking his own intelligence and education. “I want ta’ be polite.”

Octavius blinks.

Jedediah rolls his eyes and then his head. He explains, “Great big, giant, honkin’ spears, Ockie.” He enunciates. “Po-lite.”

“Had one of them been female, she would be Anput. She is the wife of Anubis. Since they are both physically male…”

Octavius trails off, uncertain.

Sweet Pea whinnies shrilly and the statues whip their attention, their unblinking eyes abruptly fixating on her. They let out a low growl.

“Hey!”

The warriors snap their attention to Jedediah. They tilt their heads expectantly, but otherwise stay motionless.

Jedediah lifts his index finger and points. “I don’t care how big and mean you _think_ you are. You better believe if you bite my horse I will bite you back.”

The Anubis warriors flinch at the challenge, taken aback. Cocking their heads to the side, they turn their heads and gaze at one another, conferring without words with their unnerving, unblinking gazes.

Octavius lifts his chin, pride in his eyes, and helpfully confirms, “He’s a biter.”

It is a pronouncement. He rubs his abused rump and darts his gaze over.

Jedediah’s blue eyes are fixed on the twin guards. His gaze is made up of sharp, dagger-points. Stern. Hard. Cold.  

Speaking out of the side of his mouth, Octavius asks, “Did you use this same sort of Roman diplomacy on your wolf when you were first introduced?”

Jedediah jerks his chin. He nods tersely. “You bet your sweet hind end I did.” He thrusts his blade out in front of him.

Still staring straight ahead, Octavius purses his mouth. He’s pleased at what might have been an actual flirtatious comment. His lips twitch several times, a happy light shining from his eyes. Would wonders never cease?

While the smile cannot be maintained, he rocks back and forth on his heels.

“Hey, Oct?” Jedediah asks, voice warm now, back to his normal self.

Octavius tilts his head. “Hmm?”

Jedediah turns. “Ya think if they could open their mouths right now they’d have teeth?”

The Anubis warriors slowly turn their heads. Their very human eyes flick back and forth between Jedediah and Octavius.

Octavius shakes his head, uncertain, brow knitted. He doesn't offer anything more, calculating on how to keep them all alive.

“So. These dog things,” Jedediah prods, seeking clarification. He gives Octavius a serious, level gaze. “They’re like guardians, right? Protectors. It’s their nature.”

Octavius nods, eyes dark and intent. “Yes.” He speaks out of the side of his mouth. “That much is certain.”

“Okay.” Jedediah blows out an explosive breath. “Okay. Just checking.” He blows out another breath, swinging his arms in either direction in preparation, stretching. “Okay. Step aside. I got this.”

One of the statues tightens its grip on its spear.

Octavius tracks its movements, glaring, holding his blade steady.

“I like dogs,” Jedediah proclaims. He repeats the phrase as though he’s attempting to convince himself of this fact. His voice is taking on a higher pitch as he bends down on first one shaky knee, and then the other. “I like wolves.”

Chin lifted, Octavius steps forward, sword held in a defensive position. He takes a cautious step to one side. Turning their heads, the statues follow him with their eyes.

“Keep your distance!” he commands, voice thick with tension.

He and the sentinels hold their poses, glaring at one another.

Jedediah makes a whimpering sound.

Distracted, Octavius’s arm instinctively shoots back. He gropes blindly behind him to steady his friend and pull him against his side and offer comfort.

His fingers grip nothing but air.

Afraid Jedediah may be having a relapse, Octavius whips his head and finds him crouched on all fours.

Alarmed, Octavius slowly lowers his weapon. He can only gape.

Jedediah hops. He yips; he yaps. He whines and cries, breathy little yelps, low and plaintive. Like a puppy. An injured, lost little puppy.

Feeling a chill of fear, Octavius’s mouth curls in anger.

He hears the sentinels shift, and he lifts his sword, pointing it in warning. He meets the guards' gazes, matching them glare for glare. His eyes blaze fierce with a light more savage than that of any feral beast. He stares, hard.

“Touch him and you will have a fury set upon you unlike any you have ever known!”

The statues halt, not at Octavius’s threat, but at the piteous sounds Jedediah is making. They tilt their heads again, as though searching through memories. Whining in sympathy, their hold on their spears loosen.

Octavius stares down at Jedediah, eyes glittering. His lips quiver at the heartbreaking sounds.

Jedediah smiles up at him. It is a small smile, building in confidence. “Octy, it’s okay. I’m alright,” he mouths.

And then, still on all fours, he pads around in a circle, making small, whimpering sounds. It holds the statues’ attention.

One Anubis warrior is unduly affected by the display. Concerned, it looks like a mother wolf hovering over its young. It drops its spear with a loud, reverberating _clang._ Mewling softly, it reaches out its massive, muscular forearm.

Jedediah stops circling, quickly scurrying to the side, away from the hand, having no desire to be touched.

He stretches an arm out, fingers splayed, and says, “Five.”

The Anubis warrior halts, taken aback. Uncertain, it tilts its head curiously. Stone grinds against stone.

“Five,” Jedediah repeats and nods at his gloved fingers. His eyes flick up to the Anubis statue’s hands.  He jerks his chin. “You have five fingers on your hand. Like me.”

The teacher in Jedediah emerges.

One at a time, he counts and flexes each digit on his own hand.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” He does the same with the other hand, and holds his palm out again, nodding at the Anubis figure’s hand.

The warrior looks down at its fingers. Both hands curl into fists. Confused and surprised, it marvels at them. The statue turns its hands over and over, flexing each digit, counting silently. It’s mimicking Jedediah.  

It looks up sharply, angling its head. It makes a mewling sound, one at odds with its fierce physical appearance, communicating with the other warrior. The creature sounds precisely like a dog. Simply a dog. The beast splays its hands out in a question.

Jedediah nods and whispers, “That’s right, boy. Just like us.”

The warrior rumbles to its companion.  They hold a brief, inclusive conference of growls and grunts. The first warrior asks a question; the second one answers, their lips never parting. Their eyes hold an air of mystery.

The other warrior rumbles back, looking toward its hands. The sound is full of loss and yearning.

Slowly, Jedediah stands up with Octavius’s help.

“What did you do?”

Jedediah shrugs.

“Confused ‘em, maybe. I don’t know exactly. Jackals are wild dogs, right? At least in part. Poor things oughta have paws and be on all fours. And they know that. Know it ain’t natural. They don’t understand.” He jerks his chin, and whispers, “Might be time for us to skedaddle outta here, partner, while they’re good and occupied.”

Octavius nods. “Agreed.”

They make to climb down when the sarcophagus jumps inside its glass encasement again and they lose their footing. They fall on their backs against the stone slab, riding out the shockwaves.

The noise breaks the warriors’ concentration. They bend down, spears coming up.

Octavius and Jedediah crabwalk backward.

“So much for that plan,” Octavius calmly intones.

Jedediah nods.

Jumping to his feet, he thrusts the dagger out again. He looks at the blade and then the warriors, and back again. Tossing it in the air, he catches it by the blade and not the hilt.

Riveted, the warriors watch, leaning forward curiously.

Jedediah tosses the dagger again. Tosses it a third and fourth time. He stops abruptly, and then waves it at his captive audience with the theatrical flair of a magician.  

A small whine of impatience escapes the stone muzzle of one of the sentinels. It bends forward expectantly, its rump sticking up in the air, signaling play. It wags a non existent tail. Despite its permanently closed mouth, it lets out a sharp, echoing bark.

“You want this?” Jedediah goads, bending low, his own rump lifting, speaking in baby talk. He holds the blade fast in one hand, and wiggles his leather-covered rump. “Huh? Who’s my good boy? Who’s my pretty boy?” He makes kissing noises. “You want it? Huh? Do ya want it?”

The Anubis warriors crane their necks forward. If their mouths opened, their tongues would be lolling.

Abruptly, Jedediah turns and hurls the dagger as far as he can, blade first, deeper into the room. “Fetch!”

The guard's eyes follow the trajectory of the dagger.

Jedediah grabs hold of Octavius’s arm and pushes him forward as the warriors attempt to squeeze into the room and fetch the blade.

Octavius reaches out his arm in disbelief. “My dagger!”

“Forget the dad-blame dagger! You don’t need it anymore! Go, go, go!”

Octavius scrambles forward and they both dive quickly over the side of the lid and onto the stone floor.

They roll to their feet.

Jedediah grabs Sweet Pea’s reins and alley oops, swinging onto her back.

“Put that dad-gum poking stick away!” he shouts, pointing at Octavius’s sword.

Octavius hurries to sheath the blade back in its scabbard.

At that moment, he yelps, feeling himself lifted from the floor.

For one fearful second he thinks the warriors have captured him and he twists, prepared to go down fighting.

Only. The hands, while strong, are not made of stone. Far from it. They are also too gentle. These are Jedediah’s hands.

Jedediah grunts as he lifts and twists, and then Octavius finds himself mounted upon Sweet Pea’s back. He throws his arms around Jedediah’s waist, hugging him tightly.

“You good?”

Octavius nods, letting out an explosive breath. “Quite.”

Jedediah snaps the reins.

“Haaaw!” he shouts, spurring the steed forward. The hellbeast rears up on her back legs. Octavius holds on for dear life.

And they are off.

Together, they ride out of Egypt only to be confronted by a very large, booted, furred foot blocking their path.

Jedediah pulls up so sharply on the reins, the back end of the horse, along with Octavius, is practically sitting on the floor. Octavius tightens his hold.

They look up, up, and _up_.

Sweet Pea flattens her ears, rears, and shies back from Attila and his men. The Huns bend over them with scowls on their faces.

Jedediah slaps his thigh.

“Ah, come on!” he shouts, clenching his fists and bouncing in his seat. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

Attila points his finger at them and roars.

“Dagnabit!”

Sweet Pea does an about-face and bolts in the opposite direction, whirling and dancing. Octavius squeezes Jedediah for all he is worth. Jedediah doesn’t need to kick the steed into a gallop. She flies.

* * *

_Later…_

Sweet Pea zigs and zags, as quick as lightning. The Huns give chase.

“Are we losin’ ‘em?” Jedediah shouts back at Octavius. He has to yell over the wind and the fire shooting from the hellbeast’s hooves.

Octavius twists in his seat. The Huns are gaining ground. He turns back, facing front, eyes wide.

“It depends on your definition of _losing_ , dearest.”

Jedediah cranes his neck to look.

“Jiminy!” He gives the steed his head. Over the wind, he shouts, “Octavius. Do you trust me?”

Octavius freezes. He hasn’t trusted anyone for a very long time. Since before he found himself trapped in this museum. He does not even trust his men, not completely, hence the dagger.

“I —” he dips his head, closes his eyes, swallowing hard. Opening his eyes, he shouts, “With my life.”

“Then get ready to scoot up. One. Two...” again with the counting. Jedediah swings his left leg over the side of the horse and sits with that one leg bent. “Three!”

Octavius scoots up, expecting to be pressed so close to Jedediah that he’s practically sitting on top of him. Only, Jedediah steps off the galloping horse with a bounce. And then he is gone. Simply gone. Vanished. Octavius grabs Sweet Pea’s mane to steady himself, mind racing.

Bewildered, he asks, “What just happened?”

He feels warmth pressed against his back, through his armor.

“Scoot up, compadre,” Jedediah shouts from behind him. “You’re hogging the best seat in the house!” He pushes Octavius forward, wriggling to make more room.

Octavius scoots up. Still out of sorts over what just occurred, he shouts, “How!”

Jedediah wraps his arms around Octavius’s waist, holding on. He leans forward and shouts, “Magic of rodeo, baby!”

Octavius closes his eyes and holds on tight, knowing what Jedediah has done. Jedediah has put his own back to the Huns to protect him.

“Sweet Jupiter!” Octavius has tied his fate to a mad man.

* * *

_Later…_

They race past exhibit after exhibit, passing the neanderthals, once again on the quest for fire.

Metal men, stone creatures, and African mammals all leap back out of the way as the hellbeast gallops along at a frantic clip, sparks flying under her hooves.

Hairy elephants trumpet as they gallop past.

Octavius bounces in his seat, steering the horse, chest nearly pressed flat against the steed’s neck. Behind him, he hears an excited shout from his companion.

Jedediah whoops with joy.

Octavius’s peripheral vision catches sight of Jedediah’s raised finger.

“Hey, Octy! Look! Eskimos!”

Octavius turns his head to see people in hooded animal skins and furs with deep black hair, dark eyes, and wide faces with high cheek bones. With them are dogs attached to sleds.

“Oh. Brilliant,” he calls back to Jedediah, nonplussed.

“Howdy-howdy!” Jedediah waves at the people, bouncing up and down in his seat.

Hesitantly, the people lift their palms and wave back.

“Whoooo-whee!”

Octavius shakes his head. Only Jedediah would be having the time of his life during such a crisis.

The Huns roar behind them. Octavius feels the vibrations of their stomping feet growing louder, still in pursuit. The Huns are a mad, swarming force behind them.

It is pandemonium as the other exhibits scatter from the Huns path in terror, shrieking and pointing with horrid fascination.

“Don’t these guys ever get tired?” Jedediah shouts of the Huns. “They don’t quit!”

They ride hard toward the end of the line, seeing the edge of an immense staircase leading to the first floor landing.

Octavius looks to the left and sees something slinking around the curve of the stairs that makes his blood run cold: the return of the most enormous lion he has ever seen.

The lion sees them. Recognizes them. Ears pressed flat against its head, it arches its back. It opens its massive jaws and lets out an ungodly roar that shakes the walls down to the floor.

“Insufferable feline!” Octavius shouts.

Behind him, Jedediah bounces and shouts, “I think I got an idea!”

Sweet Pea neighs wildly.

“Do tell.”

“Aim for Lambert!”

Sweet Pea jerks her head up and down, objecting.

_“Who!”_

“The lion!” Jedediah shouts, pointing. “We need to get closer to the lion!”

Eyes widening, Octavius peers over his shoulder. “Whatever for!”

“King of the Huns. King of the jungle. We need a king to beat a king!”

“By the gods…”

“Here, kitty-kitty!” Jedediah makes loud smacking sounds with his mouth, beckoning the lion closer.

“Jedediah!” Octavius chastises.

The lion casts them a golden-eyed glare, piercing straight into Octavius’s soul. Its shadow is massive on the wall. Tail flicking, it quivers with excitement. Lifting its massive head, it roars again, exposing yellow fangs.

Octavius falters.

“Trust me…”

Against his better judgment, Octavius steers the steed toward the lion.

At the last possible second, Sweet Pea diverts course, having none of it. She veers, aiming between the banisters.

With terrific speed, the lion wheels, springs, and gives chase.

“Quick!” Jedediah calls. “We need to redistribute the weight. We’re too top-heavy!” He shifts all his weight to the rump of the horse, pulling Octavius back with him. Octavius goes, still managing to hold on to Sweet Pea’s mane.

Making one last frantic effort for survival, the steed dives headfirst over the edge of the staircase.

The lion charges, and Octavius feels the wind off one gargantuan paw as it swipes, claws seeking to impale and drag them both from the steed’s back.

It misses.

Time seems to stretch for eternity as they experience free fall.

Octavius twists his head, witnessing Jedediah lift his hat, the other arm clutched around him.

“Yeeeeeee-haaaaw!”

The fall must be too great.

Even for them.

Octavius smothers a horror-stricken scream. “We’re going to die!”

With one hand, Octavius pulls frantically at the blasted beast’s mane as though to stop her mid dive. The wind whirls around them, rippling Jedediah’s shirt and lifting Octavius’s pteruges as the floor rushes to greet them.

* * *

_Seconds later..._

They land.

Octavius heaves out a shaky breath at the sudden jolt,  Sweet Pea’s shoes sparking the tiles.

The resounding clop causes the dusty floor to ignite into a massive, rolling fireball.

The exhibits on the ground floor scatter, hopping up and down on one foot from the burn.

Sweet Pea skids to a stop, prancing. She pitches around, whirling in a wide arc.

Snorting with pride and self-importance, her head bobs up and down.

Octavius slumps against the horse, a mild vertigo overcoming him. Jedediah leans mutely against his back. He thinks they may have passed out.

They lie senseless on top of the horse.

Suddenly alert, he elbows Jedediah and shouts, “Get me off this blasted beast!”

He spills off the mount in an ungraceful, wobbly heap, and promptly loses his footing and stumbles. The inertia carries his paludamentum. It rises over the top of his head.

Knees giving way entirely, he sits down hard on the floor.

The tile is still warm.

Stubbornly climbing back to his feet, he lifts the paludamentum up and over his eyes, annoyed. He marches forward bow-legged.

The lion stalks them down the staircase at a slinking clip, prowling low to the ground, its golden eyes fixed on them.

Like the roll of thunder, it growls. Its massive paws shake the ground beneath them with each step. It quickens its gait.

Octavius unsheathes his sword. He has had quite enough.

Jedediah regains consciousness and calls from the back of the steed, tilting sideways. “Oct?” His voice sounds unsteady.

Up above them, still on the stairs, Attila shouts. He lifts his gaze with a scowl.

Attila points at them, weapon raised high over his head. He shakes his fist and barks orders to his men, shooting for the opposite staircase.

Octavius whips his attention. The lion still pads its way down the steps.

With each calculated step, its muscles bunch.

Octavius sees the raw power in the lion’s limbs, the arc of its shoulder blades as it makes its way slowly down.

The lion’s muzzle wrinkles, pulling back, revealing a row of razor sharp teeth. Yellow eyes gleam and narrow, the prize in sight.

It would appear everything unpleasant in this museum has every advantage over Jedediah and Octavius, and are coming for them.

They are not going to make it. There are too many threats, too many odds stacked against them. They truly are going to die.

Nevertheless, Octavius plans to go down fighting.

How odd, at this moment, a memory strikes his mind.

Of him sitting straight-backed, close beside his _not-yet_ adoptive father, peering with disinterest at advisors. He feigns indifference.

Although he is dismissive of them, they make rumblings to his father about grisly games played in less refined provinces.

Bloodsport for fun. Swordplay and races. Brutality and violence.

The advisors want to bring these games home and build a central location to house them. For the glory of Rome.

They wish to build a coliseum.

Such a structure would be ambitious. It would be years, decades, perhaps even centuries in the making. However, once the advisors get an idea, it is rather difficult to divert their attention. Especially if they could feed into a leader’s vanity whilst striving to expand Rome’s reach and power. If not Julius Caesar, then they’ll strive to convince his successor, or his successor’s successors.

Now he realizes it’s the coliseum games he’s read about in the library. Events that happened long after his time. His home here in the museum houses such a coliseum. His men train and play and laugh, racing each other there. It is a happy, energized place.

In a very different life, individuals from the coliseum fought to the death. The library books told that those who survived the blade, faced the beasts. In his mind’s eye, Octavius can hear the snarling of the lions hidden in the shadows behind the gates.

Lions were captured from their prides, starved until the games, and then released in an angry, ravenous state all for the sake of sport.

Octavius gave the advisors nothing but silence. His gaze stared through them. Julius Caesar loved the idea. The senators chuckled to themselves.

Even now it makes Octavius’s heart brittle with shame and bitterness. He lowers his eyes.

Octavius feels a hand touch his shoulder. He whirls to peer into the face of his adoptive father.

The man’s countenance has always been a constant mask of sly intelligence and calm, but in this moment Octavius, no _,_ _Octavian_ sees a gleeful light of excitement dancing bright in the man’s coal-black eyes.

Julius Caesar skins his lips back from his teeth and smiles. Normally, he is bored by such nonsense, but in this instance he raises both his eyebrows, dipping his head forward to whisper conspiratorially. “This should be interesting,” he rumbles. _“What sport. What_ **_fun_** _.”_

Octavius blinks. Gasping in a lungful of air, his head is spinning.

Blinking again, he realizes it is not his father’s hand, but Jedediah’s. He’s still atop the hellbeast and they have sidled over to him.

Octavius whips his head back toward the lion.

The beast they face now is the size of the coliseum. Much larger, in fact, and even if there are no walls, they are most certainly as trapped as any of the ill-fated contestants who originally perished there.

Caesar's words echo, _“This should be interesting.”_

“Ain’t he beautiful?”

Octavius whips his attention back to Jedediah, mouth agape.

Jedediah has a look of awe upon his face as he stares up at the humongous lion.

Octavius’s mouth snaps shut, swallowing down the hard lump in his throat. He looks again at the snarling feline.

His mind works quickly.

Of course.

Jedediah and his insatiable desire for travel. And Africa. And communing with the continent’s murderous wildlife.

Bless the man. And blast him.

Octavius nods. “...yes, quite wondrous.”

Sweet Pea snorts, stomping the floor. Sparks shoot from her hooves.

Swinging his legs over the side of the steed, Jedediah lands in a deep crouch. He lifts his head. Looking up past his Stetson, he smiles a death’s head grin.

He points a gloved finger at the lion, “You, I’m gonna ride.”

_“What!”_

Jedediah ambles forward, craning his neck to look back at Octavius. “You heard me, kemosabe,” he drawls, full of confidence. He’s never sounded so happy.

 _Oh. Oh no_.

Octavius is held in a paralysis of fear.

With long steps Jedediah stops sauntering and darts forward, picking up speed in a dead run at the lion.

“No!” Octavius takes a deep breath. “Jedediah!”

Spell broken, he begins to run.

And, suddenly, Julius Caesar is there, blocking Octavius’s path. Octavius windmills his arms, skidding to a stop.

His father tilts his head like a bird of prey. Black eyes flash. Hands clasped behind his back, he gives Octavius a condescending look of sympathy.

_“Why, Octavian, child, wherever are you going?”_

“Move! Stand aside!” Octavius orders the apparition. He sprints through him. “Jedediah!”

He reaches a hand out to his friend and grabs at nothing at all.

Still sprinting, Jedediah turns his head. “I got this, Ockie! No problemo! It’s high-noon, baby, and we got us a _lion rodeo!”_

“No!” Octavius stomps his feet. _“No lion rodeo!”_ If it is any indication that he has spent too much time and energy aggravating Jedediah over the years, Octavius is now bouncing angrily on his feet, fists clenched. “Jedediah, for pity’s sake _,_ stop!” he thunders.

It’s going to be a massacre.

It is the oblivious animals that attract the lion. Octavius has seen a lioness attack an unsuspecting, fully grown man, lift him up by the throat, and drag him off.

Other victims were seen separating themselves from the safety of the group.

For a lion, oftentimes it’s the running ones. Like most carnivores, it is designed to chase. That is provided the animal runs away from the immediate threat.

Jedediah charges toward the lion, legs pumping. Cowboy boots pounding, they make _clack, clack, clacking_ sounds against the floor.

Suddenly, the lion starts, stops, abandoning the chase at Jedediah’s brazenness. It inclines its head, jaws parting, panting.

Instinctively, the beast knows this turnabout behavior is unnatural. It watches in confusion at the miniature man racing toward it.

With a worried, warning rumble, it darts its attention toward Octavius, and then at the Huns, and quickly peers all around at the museum and the various exhibits who stare on in wide-eyed horror and fascination, some with hands covering their mouths.  

Spooked, it flicks its tail. The lion tilts its head, looking uncertain.

Seeing Jedediah isn’t stopping, the lion turns tail and bounds away, cutting in the opposite direction.

Jedediah chases the lion around the room, ranting at the top of his lungs. “Get back here, you lily-livered pussycat!” He lifts an arm, yanking the Stetson from his head. “You’re the king, dad-gum it! Come back here! Don’t shirk your responsibilities!” He picks up speed, attempting to outpace the lion.

As the lion disappears back into the shadows, Jedediah halts and bounces.

“Get back here!” He screams, throwing his hat to the floor. “Come on!”

Octavius skids to a stop, relieved. He clutches his armor-plated chest, but something of Jedediah’s rantings have struck a chord. He is not a king. Rome has never had a king. He is a Roman general and an emperor. It is his duty to keep the peace.

Turning on his heels, his eyes flash. Glaring up at Attila and his hoard, he marches forth.

He raises his sword.

Octavius cannot abide bullies. Or lawlessness. And the Huns have been nothing but a menace since their appearance in the library. And it is all too apparent the way the other exhibits run away from them, they have been engaging in all around thuggery across the museum.

It is high time someone did something about it.

"You!” He points his index finger at Attila. “I would like a word."  

Attila blinks, and then scoffs, laughing at Octavius’s meddle. His dark eyes spark with respect for the briefest moment, but then he bounds down the stairs, taking steps two at at time. Respect or no respect, he has been challenged and will answer.

“You will cease and desist this ridiculous tomfoolery,” Octavius shouts at Attila. “You will behave with respect and the proper decorum!”

“‘Tavius!” Jedediah shouts, and Octavius glances over his shoulder. Jedediah has raised his hand and is reaching out for him, fear in his eyes.

It gives Octavius pause.

They might not be lovers, but they are most certainly friends. The sight pleases him, warms his heart. He’s glad he’s gotten to know this man. Jedediah is so lovely. He is a man worth dying for.

Octavius wants to lift his hand and reach back, but he refuses to stop marching.

The chase ends here. He’s tired of running.

He takes a deep breath.

Lifting his head grandly, he straightens his shoulders. His paludamentum lifts and swirls around him.

Hands balled into fists, he marches directly and expectantly toward the Huns, keeping his attention focused.

“No, Ockie! No!” Jedediah bounces up and down. And then Jedediah is scrambling, sprinting toward him.

Octavius continues pointing at Attila, calling him out, jerking his finger back and forth with each high-handed pronouncement.

“You will do no harm to me and mine! You will do no harm to the Americans! They are under my protection. You will not harm any Romans within the confines of these walls! The Mayans…”

Octavius’s rant trails off for a moment. He has no love in his heart for the Mayans. Not after what they did to his army and certainly not after what he thought they’d done to Jedediah. Nevertheless, he points, and then falters. He really does not like them.

“The Mayans…” His eyes dart. He rolls his wrist. “We’ll talk.”

Attila and his men are almost upon him, weapons raised.

“‘Tavius! No!”

Octavius turns his head to the side, glancing back, perhaps for the last time.

Jedediah is too far away to offer aid. He looks devastated. Realizing he’ll never make it in time, he falls to his knees.

Craning his head back, he howls.

His howl is shrill and filled with pain, a lupine distress call.  

Attila and his men stop at the sound.

Octavius swings his head back around, and there is Jedediah, face still lifted up.

Jedediah lowers his head, breathing hard. His unkempt hair is tousled on his forehead. He looks at Octavius with such intensity that Octavius almost swivels back to see who is standing behind him.

An eerie quiet settles over the museum.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Jedediah has called the dogs.

There is an answering howl from somewhere in the building. And then there is the roar from the Anubis statues.

The response is so loud and guttural, it rattles the walls of the of the museum itself.

Octavius turns and he sees the shadows of the statues stick their gigantic arms out of the Egyptian room. The shadows creep and extend across the ceiling.

 _“Uh-oh, dum-dums. You better run-run!”_ says a large-faced, heavily-browed statue.

There are loud thumps, the _crash-bang-boom_ of wood against wood, and the Eskimos' dogs drag a runaway, unmanned sled behind them, racing down the stairs.

The sled crashes and clatters. It flies, pinballing itself against the walls and the stair’s railing.  

The dogs plant their paws. Muzzles twist into snarls.

Peeling their lips back, the dogs eye the Huns, revealing rows of teeth and fangs. Spittle flies as they snap their jaws, barking, bouncing up and down, only held back by their harnesses, their humans not far behind.

The Huns raise their weapons, threatening the dogs, warning them to keep their distance and not attack.

Eskimos leap over the sleds to the canines' defense.

Legs braced, they stand between the Huns and their dogs, reducing the size of the battleground, clubs raised.

It is a standoff.

Both factions stare at one another, trembling with the weight of their raised weapons.  

Each party appears perfectly matched in their choice of weapons and desperation — the Huns angry, challenged, and feeling threatened; and the Eskimos empowered, protecting their dogs, their eyes like knives of ice, any fear they’ve ever had of the Huns completely gone.

Silence falls.

The other exhibits are quiet, waiting with breathless anticipation.

From the top of the stairs, a seal bounces its way along on its flippers, down the stairs, barking madly, joining the fray.

Everyone pauses at this new addition, dumbstruck. Octavius lifts his head.

“Whoa,” Jedediah says quietly from behind him. “It’s a dog mermaid!”

Octavius whips his head around. He slaps his thigh, incredulous. “Darling, really…”

“What?” Jedediah lifts his palms out. “I want one!”

Octavius blinks.

There is a monstrous roar as Jedediah’s howling has called one other “dog” into the fray.  

There is a strange pause as the exhibits gather their wits, and then floor trembles beneath everyone’s feet.

**_Boom, boom, boom._ **

And then _Skeletor_ is there. Entering the room, he peers down. He tilts his head, his ghastly, monstrous visage sending waves of terror throughout the crowd.

He lets loose a massive, ear-splitting roar. 

Behind him, Octavius hears Jedediah’s awestruck whisper.

“Oh, Lordy…”

With his paludamentum whipping behind him, Octavius lifts his eyes to the Huns, authority in his gaze. 

“You will behave yourself and abide by my wishes.”

Octavius can feel Jedediah’s terrified gaze on his back. He peers over his shoulder.

Jedediah scrambles to his feet and is running toward him.

And then Octavius lifts his chin to meet _Skeletor's_ empty eye sockets. Slowly, he smiles warmly, and lifts his hand.

The exhibits let out a collective gasp.

The Huns stare at Octavius, slack jawed at Octavius’s brazenness.

The dinosaur — for Octavius now knows that is what the creature to be — rumbles softly. It is still with enough force the sound rattles its way through Octavius’s armor, but the creature whines in recognition, displaying an eternally ghastly grin.

The huge skull slowly lowers all the way down to where Octavius stands.

Mewling softly, _Skeletor_ leans gently into Octavius's waiting palm. The rough surface of bone nudges softly at his hand, the dinosaur signalling its desire to be petted.

The Huns and Eskimos drop their weapons. Each taking a step back.

Attila and his men turn and disappear down a corridor. The Eskimos follow suit, pausing only long enough to free their dogs from their harnesses. And then they, too, escape down an opposite corridor.

Oblivious, Octavius’s attention is fully on _Skeletor._ He whispers fondly to the dinosaur.

“You remember me, don’t you?”

 _Skeletor_ rumbles, nudging at Octavius’s palm again. Its massive tail wags slowly, far behind its skeletal body, whipping the dust and creating miniature dust devils.

Octavius turns, still petting the dinosaur.

All eyes are upon him.

He lifts his chin.

“There’s nothing to see here,” he commands. “Move along.”

One by one the crowd disperses, speaking quietly and animatedly amongst themselves. The seal barks once, and then it is bounding its way back up the stairs to the second floor.

Satisfied, Octavius turns to peer at Jedediah.

A grin spreads across his face at Jedediah’s expression, a humorous mix of disbelief and awe.

Jedediah shakes his head as though to clear it; he’s stopped running, staring at the tableaux.

When Jedediah catches Octavius’s gaze, his mouth closes slowly.  He looks back up at the massive living skeleton and then down to Octavius, flummoxed.

Jedediah continues staring back and forth between _Skeletor_ and Octavius. He glances at Octavius for a long moment.

His lips part.

He watches Octavius as though he’s seeing him for the first time. And whatever he sees, he hadn’t quite expected such a talent from Octavius. His eyes are wide, but his mouth lifts at the corners, obviously liking these hidden depths.

Octavius doesn’t inform him that he had no hand in taming the dinosaur. That the creature was already docile. Nevertheless, the look on Jedediah’s face has him glancing down at his sandaled feet, attempting to hide his grin. He looks up shyly.  

Jedediah’s attention is now purely focused on _Skeletor._ His gaze is distant and disbelieving.

“You did say you needed a king to defeat a king,” Octavius supplies. He lifts his palm. “I’d like to present to you: the _Tyrannosaurus rex._ His name is a mixture of Latin and Greek meaning —”

“— king of the tyrant lizards,” Jedediah supplies in awe. _“Tyranno_ and _saurus_ are Greek _._ And _rex_ means _king_ in Latin.”

Octavius nods, eyes shining with pride. “Yes.” He inclines his head out of respect.

“And, he’s friendly?”

“Obviously.”

Octavius then turns and faces _Skeletor._ “Would you like to meet someone very special?” He coos. “Hmm? Would you like that?”

Skeletor’s teeth part into a wide, toothy, goofy grin, and Octavius can feel its entire body wagging, giving an enthusiastic answer.

_Yes!_

Octavius lifts his palm to Jedediah. “Come here. It’s alright.”

It has to be a minor miracle. He’d half expected obstinance from Jedediah just to be difficult, but Jedediah steps closer without protest.

His eyes bulge as he takes in the enormity of the dinosaur up close. He steps back to peer up, up, and _up_ — and almost falls over on his rump.

Jedediah regains his balance and stiffens when _Skeletor_ rumbles, but otherwise remains motionless.

 _Skeletor_ leans its massive head forward and snuffles Jedediah, blowing his Stetson off the top of his head. Crooning softly he nuzzles Jedediah's blond hair as gently as if Jedediah where a small kitten.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry!” Jedediah exclaims. “I misnamed you!” He lifts his arms, and does something even more miraculous. He hugs the gigantic skeleton. Backing up, he shakes his head. “You ain’t no tyrant at all, are ya?”

 _Skeletor_ shakes his massive head and continues nuzzling Jedediah’s hair, showing every bit the fascination for it as Octavius does.

Annoyed, Jedediah shakes his head and asks, “What is this preoccupation you all have with my hair?”

Octavius chuckles, eyes shining. He claps his hands.

“Okay, okay!” Jedediah says after a few moments, pulling back. “That’s still attached. God!” He laughs, finally raising his arms.

 _Skeletor_ pants happily as Jedediah uses both hands to pet and scratch him, grinning.

“Look at ya! You’re just a big ol’ puppy dog, aincha?”

With a massive **_boom_ ** that shakes the museum, and sends Octavius and Jedediah screaming and flying, Skeletor flops over on his back, offering his belly. If he had a tongue, it would be lolling.

Climbing to their feet, Octavius and Jedediah approach the dinosaur again.

Jedediah cannot stop touching him. _Skeletor_ rumbles underneath his hands.

Octavius glances at Jedediah, gaze earnest. “I think you may have just gotten your wolf back.”

Jedediah stills. Blinking, he peers over. Overcome, his mouth thins, dipping down.

And then, abruptly a small smile steals across his lips. His chin quivers. Eyes shining, sobs shudder through his body. Curling over the massive skull, he cries happy tears and clutches and nuzzles his forehead against the beast’s muzzle.

 _Skeletor_ rumbles at the attention. He leans further into the contact as though starved for touch, lifting Jedediah off his feet for a moment.

Jedediah shouts in delight. If pressed, Octavius wouldn’t go so far as to call it a squeal, but it is certainly close.

It occurs to Octavius that the dinosaur might be even more starved for contact than Jedediah is. He takes a moment to ponder this. It would seem Jedediah has found a kindred soul, knowing what it feels like to have people shy away from him.

Of being alone and afraid.

This thought must have struck Jedediah at nearly the same moment because when he regains his feet, he leans forward on the toes of his boots and touches his lips gently to the skull, just below the nostrils.

It should be absolutely appalling. Only. Somehow, it isn’t. It is the most beautiful sight Octavius has ever seen.

He stares at Jedediah, feeling more than half in a dream.

Jedediah lifts his palm, and brushes the back of his gloved hand against dry bone. He speaks rapidly in a different language, crooning to the brute.  

Typical.

Turning back to Octavius, Jedediah wipes his eyes. “I think this sweet little baby likes me!”

“Loves you…” Octavius whispers back. He catches himself and clears his throat. Hands clasped in front of him, he looks down at his sandals and rocks back and forth on his heels.

He peers up.

Jedediah is grinning and looking back at _Skeletor._

“You’re a sweet, little baby girl, ain’t ya?”

Octavius raises his eyebrows. “He’s a boy.”

Jedediah examines the skeleton with a quick flick of his eyes. “I don’t see any plumbing.”

“You wouldn’t. _He’s_ nothing but bone.”

Jedediah scoffs. He waves away Octavius’s observation as unimportant. Turning toward _Skeletor_ , he leans forward conspiratorially. “I’ll make ya a little bow for your skull.”

Octavius lifts his chin regally and declares, “You will have the finest of Roman helmets, and a paludamentum to drape across your back. Like a man.”

Ignoring the one upmanship, Jedediah rubs his chin thoughtfully, staring up. “Now that I know how ya are, _Skeletor_ don’t suit ya anymore, does it? I think you need a new name. How about…”

Of course, Jedediah renames everything. Octavius shouldn’t be surprised.

Jedediah ponders long and hard. At last. He speaks. “I think I’ll name you…”

Despite his annoyance, Octavius leans forward with bated breath.

Jedediah’s eyes light up. “ _Baby.”_

Octavius whips his gaze. He is appalled. That is _his_ pet name! It is the name Jedediah calls _him._ He isn’t sharing it with anyone. Ever.

Eyebrows arched, he lifts his palm to object. No words escape him. They are caught in his throat. In no position to speak, he trembles with indignation.

“As for gender...” Jedediah trails off. “It's up to _Baby_ to decide when she’s ready.” He nods solemnly, still oblivious to Octavius’s distress. “Ain’t it, girl?”

 _Skeletor_ — for it will _not_ be _Baby_ if Octavius has anything to say about it — rumbles approval at the christening.

Jedediah laughs, clapping his hands. He points his finger, face glowing with the inner light of pure, unadulterated love. His voice is a little shaky.

“I don’t care if we are from different species.” His expression is entirely earnest and sweet. “I'm adoptin' you.”

The dinosaur opens his jaws wide. His empty eye sockets give the impression of being alight with wonder.

Octavius waves his arms, finding his words. He puts his foot down. “No. Absolutely not!”

Jedediah’s brows furrow. “Why?”

Octavius thrusts his hands out in front of him, pleading.

“Because this is ludicrous! Jedediah, really. Think it through.”

Jedediah’s lips part. He raises his eyebrows. His gaze is solid steel. There is offense coming off of him in waves.

Backpedaling, Octavius attempts to recover from his blunder. “I mean to say that considering adoption this soon is folly. You are unprepared.”

Octavius doesn't mention the fact that _Skeletor_ is a dinosaur older than they are, or that it is _Octavius_ who is unprepared for Jedediah to be a father.

Jedediah follows Octavius’s movements with his eyes as Octavius begins to pace.

“I’ve changed plenty of diapers, Oct. Wiped away loads of tears. Kissed my fair share of boo-boos.”

Octavius abruptly whirls, eyebrows raised.

“What I’m saying here, amigo, is I can do this. I put my brothers through college, for cryin’ out loud! I can do this. I done did everything I know there is to do already.”

“Then why do it again?”

Jedediah raises his eyebrows. “Because I want to.”

Octavius’s mind is racing dangerously fast. He grinds his jaw. “You are too young!”

Jedediah watches him pace back and forth. “I’m thirty-two.”

Octavius whirls back around, shocked. “Really?”

Jedediah squints, looking as though he doesn’t know whether to be offended or not. “Yes, really!”

Thinking about it, Octavius realizes he has already been informed of Jedediah’s age. It’s still a shock.

He simply forgot in the heat of the moment. Inspiration strikes, and he snaps his fingers, believing he’s found leverage.

“You are unmarried!”

Jedediah folds his arms over his chest. He shrugs.

“So? I’m dead, too. You wanna beat me over the head with that next?”

Octavius bounces up and down. “People will talk!”

Jedediah does not respond.

“You need a partner.”

Jedediah eyes Octavius levelly. He scoffs. Voice mild, he says, “You volunteerin’?”

It is said as a flippant remark. A casual challenge to a ridiculous argument.

Even so, Octavius falters, thinking it over. Really thinking it over. Having no desire to father children again, it never even occurred to him. Granted, he never expected Jedediah to decide to adopt so soon, or for him to choose interspecies adoption, of all things. And with the living skeletal remains of a dinosaur. However, now that the proposition has been presented to him...

He thinks of his daughter and their estrangement. He plays back memories of his life with her. The images have fractured over time. They are faded and dull.

Inwardly, he recalls each of his three marriages, which basically, were shams. Octavius hadn't thought so at the time, but he sees them now with a much clearer insight.

He did love Livia in his own way, but it was a selfish kind of love. More often than not he found himself putting aside his own principles and ideals in order to go along with whatever schemes entered her mind. He desired to make her happy in order to keep the peace. It wasn’t healthy, and it certainly wasn’t a mature, fully-formed relationship with the proper give and take.

He thinks of Jedediah, whom he is not married to, but who wants children he can never have. A person who inspires Octavius to be better than he is.

Finally, he thinks of himself.

After a beat, his gaze darts, and he mutters, head down, “Perhaps.”

Jedediah squints. “What was that?”

Octavius lifts his head. “Perhaps.”

Jedediah gapes at him. “You’re serious?”

Slowly, Octavius nods. He stands at attention, hands clasped behind his back.

Decision made, he simply says, “Yes.” He rocks on his heels. “On one condition.”

Jedediah lifts an eyebrow.

“Our child will not be named: _Baby._ No one in the history of mankind has ever had the audacity to call such a great, hulking brute by that name. _”_

Jedediah squints again, grinding his teeth together. He rests his hands on his waist, hip cocked.

“ _Baby_ stands, kemosabe. She likes it. So deal.”

Octavius rolls his wrist, wheedling. “Surely a fine Roman name would —”

“After the stunt you pulled with the Huns?” Jedediah interrupts, incredulous. He laughs. “No dice, pal! I get to name our daughter. And her name is _Baby!_ ”

Octavius shakes his head. “Please do not rage-name our _son_ , Jedediah.”

Jedediah leans forward, arms still folded. “If I was ta’ rage-name our kid, it would be: _Baby-I’m-sorry-your-daddy’s-a-dingbat.”_

Octavius stands with his mouth agape, taken aback. Back straight, his hands ball into fists, indignant. “My love!”

Jedediah interrupts before Octavius can get a good rant going. Unaffected, he picks at his fingers through his gloves.

“It’s either _Baby_ or _Doodlebug._ Take your pick, moonbeam.”

Sighing in defeat, Octavius deflates. He lifts his eyes to the dinosaur.

 _Skeletor_ grins back at him, all teeth. The poor, sweet, innocent, dear little lamb.

Octavius shakes his head. “ _Baby,_ I am so terribly sorry _.”_

 _Baby_ rumbles softly and nudges Octavius.

The nudge sends Octavius flying. He windmills his arms, screaming, and lands sprawled on the floor in a heap with his paludamentum covering his head.

Eyes wide, breath racing, he thinks he may have skipped a few steps along the way in his relationship with Jedediah.

Falling in love; the courtship; the wedding.

Most notably, he’s never gotten a wedding night out of this arrangement. He most certainly would have remembered that.

He turns and splays out on his back, bouncing his skull against the floor.

“Oct? What are you doing?”

“Endeavoring to restore my memories.”

Octavius jerks his paludamentum back up over his head.

Although he isn’t normally the nervous type, now that he’s on the floor, he decides to remain there. He’s in need of a proper lie-down.

Human child or not, he is a father again. The gravitas of the situation is slowly beginning to sink in. He feels faint; he may vomit.

His son nuzzles his cheek, rumbling an apology.

Suddenly in a panic, Octavius points at Baby, expression one of ultimate authority.

“You will not entertain suitors until you are _forty!”_

It is a proclamation, a declaration, an edict.

“Oct,” Jedediah interjects reasonably, palms open, “she’s got to be, like, a billion years old, already!”

Octavius lifts his chin. His attention is fully on Baby _;_ he speaks only to him.

“Nevertheless.” He points again. “You will not entertain suitors for forty years from this night!”

Baby mewls forlornly, head down.

“Oh, come on! What if she meets a nice guy dinosaur?” Jedediah pauses, thinks about it. “Or, a nice gal. What if she gets urges?”

Octavius lifts his head. He does not want to hear about his child’s urges, and harrumphs with a pout.

“He can bloody well do what I do. Abstain against his will.”

He drops his head back down.

Huffing, Jedediah rolls his eyes. He shakes his head. Hip cocked, his hands are on his belt.  

Octavius purses his lips, annoyed.

Jedediah tilts his head.

Octavius turns back to his son. Baby follows his movement with his eyeless sockets, rumbling and mewling softly.

At last, Jedediah saunters over. He peers down at Octavius and kicks lightly at his legs.

“Oh, get up, ya big baby. Take it like a man. You can't be a dad on the floor.”

* * *

_Later..._

“Okay! Now _you’ll_ turn around, and _I’ll_ hide,” Jedediah explains.

Baby cocks his head, tail wagging, but remains facing them.

They cannot reasonably play fetch with the colossal beast, so Jedediah is teaching him how to play hide-and-seek.

“You got this! Now watch me.” Jedediah demonstrates again, turning his back to Octavius and Baby. Waiting for a beat, he then turns back to face them.

Baby grins, delighted by his actions. His tail wags, creating miniature whirlwinds behind him.

Jedediah nods. “Now you try!”

Octavius chuckles despite himself, hiding his laughter behind his hand.

He watches as Baby mimics Jedediah, turning around with the softest steps the colossal brute can manage. They still boom.

“That’s my good girl! Now I’m gonna hide, and Ockie’s gonna count ta’ thirty!”

Octavius starts. “I’m, what?”

He is not ready for this, having convinced himself that he will remain a peripheral father. There, but remaining off to the side, providing assistance if and when it becomes necessary. Play is not part of the plan.

Apparently Jedediah hasn’t received his official written proclamation.

Baby turns his head to grin at Jedediah, who points, “Ah, ah, ah! Don’t turn around till Daddy tells ya.”

_Daddy._

Octavius blows out a breath. He’s perfectly fine. Really.

With a chuff, Baby turns his head away from Jedediah to peer at Octavius.

Grinning Jedediah whisper-shouts to Octavius, “Start counting!” He runs off, keeping his steps as quiet as possible.

Octavius can only blink as he turns back and looks up at Baby, who is patiently watching him and waiting for the game to begin.

He stares blankly.

Sighing, he folds his arms.

“Very well.” Raising his voice, he begins. “One, two, three…” He counts at an even pace, all the way to thirty. When he finishes counting, he instructs Baby to turn around.

Baby does so eagerly, tail wagging, ready for play.

Octavius is bemused as the dinosaur glances at him, hoping for a hint as to Jedediah’s whereabouts.

He simply shrugs and then shoos him off with a flick of the wrist.

“Seek. He’s _your_ papa. Find him.”

Several minutes tick by as Baby searches for Jedediah, snuffling around on the floor, careful not to step on any wayward, hiding cowboys.

Octavius moves to stand by Sweet Pea, who seems bored by the activity. Her ears prick, annoyed. Jealous, she is obviously unhappy at this new addition to her family.

“He still loves you, you realize, and just as equally,” Octavius murmurs, referring to Jedediah. He elbows her gently in the ribs, arms crossed. “And you're still my hellbeast.”

He lifts his hand and pats her side. She flicks her tail once.

Sighing, Octavius watches the proceedings.

Despite these shenanigans, he should commend Jedediah for his hiding skills, noting that he would have been a revered Roman soldier for his stealth. Surely it is a skill he acquired in his adventuring days.

Baby suddenly stills, tail pointing straight. He lets out a happy bark, and then his huge head pokes into a leafy potted plant high overhead.

Octavius hears Jedediah before he sees him.

“Ya found me, doggone-it!”

Baby backs away, with Jedediah hanging from one monstrous tooth, legs dangling and kicking wildly in the air.

Thankfully, Jedediah is laughing.

It warms Octavius’s heart to hear that sound. It has been sorely missed.

Baby sets Jedediah beside Octavius, who lets go of Baby’s fang as soon as his boots touch the floor.

“Whoo-wee! That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Now it’s your turn! We’re gonna cover our eyes and count, and then we’ll come find you.”

He nudges Octavius with his elbow.

Flatly, he commands with the authority of a drillmaster, “Cover ‘em.”

Already taken in by the antics, Octavius decides to obey. He smiles sweetly. His eyes dance at the command.

Their gazes meet and hold.

Jedediah blinks in surprise at the easy acquiescence and the light shining from Octavius’s eyes.

All trace of the drillmaster gone, he smiles back just as sweetly. His happiness is almost blinding.

The next few minutes has them counting out, and when they lower their hands from their eyes, they make a show of having a difficult time finding the very obvious colossal skeleton hiding behind a large pillar.

Baby peeks around the column, smiling his eternal, toothy grin.

Jedediah turns his head sharply, and Baby abruptly makes himself as small as possible, scooting in, tail wagging.

“Do ya see her?” Jedediah makes a dramatic show of craning his neck and peering all around, gloved hand hooded over his eyes. “You think she’s left us and went outside explorin’?”

Baby vigorously shakes his head _no_ from behind the pillar.

Octavius’s mouth lifts and he looks in the opposite direction, acting as though he hasn’t just heard the happy, vibrating rumbles the dinosaur is making or felt the wind off his tail.

The steed bobs her head up and down at the colossal beast, stomping her hooves impatiently, whinnying.

Jedediah turns around. Gasping, he points. “There she is! Sweet Pea found her!” Jedediah turns toward the steed. “Good girl!”

Baby lifts his skull and roars.

Bouncing up and down, Jedediah darts off. “Now find me!”

The pair play this game for what seems like ages, and eventually Sweet Pea thaws to this new “sibling.” She even takes a brief, albeit terrifying, ride on the top of Baby’s clawed foot.

As Octavius watches this extended play, he once again wishes Jedediah had been born in his own time period, and that they had found each other. That Jedediah had been with him.

If he squints, he can picture Jedediah in that light blue toga he imagined him wearing the night before and not in his more modern cowboy attire.

In his mind’s eye, he sees Jedediah racing across a Roman courtyard with a very young Julia toddling along behind him.

It is a beautiful dream.

He wonders how Julia would have taken to Jedediah. Of course, in his mind, it would have been perfect. If he and Jedediah could not have been married, than he would have chosen to keep Jedediah close as a trusted advisor and confidant. And he would have been given the added responsibilities of being Julia's teacher and protector — a spouse and a father in all but title.   

Watching Jedediah take time out of his night to play with a lost and lonely dinosaur, Octavius already knows Jedediah would have been just as good to his daughter.

Jedediah would have cared for her. Loved her. He would have died to protect her, unlike Livia. He wouldn’t have cut her hair without her consent, wouldn’t have shamed her in public, or tried to force Octavius to choose between them. Nor would Jedediah have brought Julia’s indiscretions to Octavius’s attention, and if he had, it wouldn't have been to stir the pot, but to talk sense into Octavius before he lost all reason with something along the lines of: “ _Now Ockie, calm down. It’s just a phase!”_

They would have been a family even in the face of Octavius’s political career. He would have been safe with the knowledge she was in good hands.

And the only demands Jedediah would have made in return was to be set out in nature every so often to explore.

Day trips. Travel. Africa. Everywhere.

Octavius can almost hear the incessant chatter now.

_“Take me out, take me out, take me out!”_

At the thought, Octavius laughs, clapping his hands together. He raises his clasped hands to his mouth.

It is the imitation of a prayer.

Octavius is so enraptured by his own daydreams that he doesn’t hear the noise until it is right on top of him.  He turns around sharply and immediately unsheathes his sword.

Attila towers above him.

Octavius is just about to shout for Jedediah to run whilst providing a distraction, when he notices that Attila is standing above him with a sheepish expression on his broad face.

Tilting his head, Octavius blinks.

Attila licks his lips and utters one word:

“Peace.”

Octavius’s lips part.

Attila turns to his men who are all cowering in the corridor. He barks something to them and they stand up straight. Turning back, he straightens his own shoulders, and pads over to Baby, Jedediah, and the hellbeast.

Baby growls down in warning, stepping one massive foot down in front of Jedediah and Sweet Pea. The floor vibrates.

He leans down, and opens his vast expense of jaws and bellows out challenge, protecting his family.

It doesn’t appear Attila is here for them, though. Although, he does spare Sweet Pea an intrigued glance. Her tail flicks.

Fidgeting, he looks up, up, and _up._

With the confidence of a born leader, he lifts his hand to Baby.

Cautiously, the dinosaur leans down, sniffing Attila’s palm.

After a moment, he sneezes.

The sneeze blows Attila’s hat off his head, and he scrambles back, nearly toppling over.

Jedediah whistles appreciatively. Unimpressed by Attila’s olive branch, or his bravery, he folds his arms over his chest and shakes his head. “The bigger they are…”

“Baby!” Octavius chastises, and quells Jedediah with a look. “We will conduct ourselves with decorum and the dignity of our station.”

Jedediah opens his mouth. Shuts it. He hunches his shoulders slightly. Looking away, he tightens his crossed arms. Unhappily, he says, “Fine.”

Baby looks over sharply at Octavius. There is a brief moment of hesitation. And then, slowly, he bends down once more and touches his skull against Attila’s palm.

Attila lights up, gasping in delight.

Amazed, he gawks at his own hand. He mouths a silent _oh_ in childlike wonder. Whirling around, he peers back at his men and points to the two new fathers.

These tiny men who command monsters.

He raises his weapon, and lifts their names up. “Octo! Jedo!”

Octavius stands with his arms akimbo. He sniffs. “It’s Octavius!”

The Huns cheer, lifting their own weapons.

Octavius cannot help but smile. He looks over at Jedediah, grinning shyly.

Jedediah’s eyes flick briefly, and then he toes the floor with his boot.

It is then Octavius catches movement from the corner of his eye.

He turns.

Sitting near the top of the stairs is Cecil and Gus.

Gus’s face is scrunched. He stares intently, making spirited comments to the other night guard, but the comments are too far away and too low to carry.

Cecil, on the other hand, simply watches the events unfold quietly. Every once in awhile he’ll nod at something Gus says, but otherwise he is silent.

While Octavius is untrusting of these men, Cecil makes no move against them. And Gus, apparently, cannot be bothered.

It is Cecil’s demeanor that draws Octavius’s attention, though. The man’s eyes only shine with pride at Octavius’s and Jedediah’s antics. And something else. Octavius cannot tell what this _something else_ is precisely, only that it’s there, and that thoughts are churning behind Cecil’s faded blue depths.

Octavius is uncertain how long the night guards have been watching them, or what they have seen. It makes him uneasy. He slowly moves his sword in front of his eyes, letting the night guards see it.

It will do nothing, of course. The sword is a mere toothpick compared to the enormity of their size, but it makes Octavius feel more secure.

After a beat, Cecil slaps his thigh. Slowly he stands, and helps Gus to his feet.

Gus gruffly swipes at Cecil for the assistance.

Throwing up his hands in aggravation, he teeters between two steps for a moment until he regains his balance, and then he slowly makes his way up the stairs under his own power.

Cecil watches him go.

With one final glance at the scene before him, Cecil climbs the remaining steps, the heels of his shoes clacking against the tile floor. Hands in his pockets, he disappears down a hallway.

Their departure leaves Octavius blinking. He does not know what to make of it.

* * *

 _Later_ …

Once again Octavius finds himself staring up in aggravation at two incessantly arguing men and a single female trapped behind a wall of glass.

Before Octavius, Jedediah, and Sweet Pea attempted to mount the steps leading home, Jedediah had requested they make one final stop first and Octavius could not deny him.

Octavius’s lips curl.

It appears Lewis and Clark are both still at it, arguing as though they never stopped. They probably haven’t.

Meriwether Lewis yanks a crinkled map from William Clark’s hands. He bunches the map up and hops up and down on it while Clark lifts his palms in entreaty.

Sacajawea holds her hands to her face in embarrassment. She peeks through her fingers, and then waves her palms, attempting to get the two men’s attention. She points West.

Lewis and Clark ignore her.

Jedediah lifts his leg up and over Sweet Pea’s back, and hops down. He hands the reins to Octavius when he moves to dismount.

Holding up his gloved palm, Jedediah says, “This is something I gotta do on my own.”

Octavius hesitates, and then inclines his head out of respect. “Of course.”

He watches him go, following Jedediah with his eyes as he slowly makes his way toward the glass prison. He doesn’t saunter.

Taking a deep breath, Jedediah turns back to glance at Octavius. He smiles slightly and then climbs up the marble ledge and waits for Sacajawea to notice him.

It doesn’t take long. She is an extremely observant woman.

Sacajawea kneels, regally settling down in the dirt so they can be eye to eye. She tilts her head and smiles warmly at Jedediah through the glass.

Slowly, Jedediah takes off his gloves.

Overcome, Octavius darts his gaze away for a moment.

Sweet Pea nickers, snuffling and snorting. Octavius is certain the steed is laughing at him.

“Behave.” He presses his heel gently into her side. She stops, and he turns his attention back to Jedediah.

Pointedly ignoring the other two prisoners, Jedediah places his bare hand against the glass.

Sacajawea mirrors him, placing her own palm against the encasement.

Out of respect, Jedediah takes off his hat and presses it to his chest. He clears his throat.

“I adore you, pretty lady.”

Sacajawea cannot hear him, but she smiles demurely at the compliment. Inclining her head, she presses her other hand to her heart, once again mirroring Jedediah.

Hearing movement behind him, Octavius whips his gaze toward the shadows and isn’t surprised to find a rider sitting atop a chocolate brown steed.

Teddy.  

He has his binoculars lifted to his eyes and sways when Little Texas shifts his legs impatiently.

Octavius pointedly looks back to Jedediah and Sacajawea, and then back at Teddy. He wills Teddy’s eyes to meet his.

Lifting his eyebrows, he communicates a silent, but important message with his gaze, willing his friend to hear him: _This is how it’s done. Or, at least, this is how it begins._

He arches an eyebrow for emphasis.

Teddy lowers his binoculars. Still deeply self-conscious, he is not ready. He blinks several times, and glances away.

Octavius feels he has made his point all the same.

* * *

_Later…_

They have fallen into a companionable silence. With the help of their son, they have been plopped down on the second floor and are headed home.

Dipping and swaying, they travel atop the steed. They move naturally with the horse’s slow, ambling gait.  

“It’s been a long coupla nights.” Jedediah muses aloud, breaking the silence.

Octavius chuckles, making a noncommittal noise. It is an understatement to say the very least, but he is too tired to voice it.

After a beat, he yawns and nods against Jedediah’s shoulder. He’s leaning heavily against him more so than he probably should. Sleepy, his cheek comes to rest against Jedediah’s back, arms around his waist.

“Quite eventful.”

Silence.

And then.

“Hey, Oct?”

“Hmm?” Octavius blinks his eyes open and lifts his head.

“I know…” Jedediah starts; stops. “I know I left to get away from it all. Make a new life for myself somewhere else. And when I found out I couldn’t. Well. I kinda lost it.”

That certainly isn’t news, but Octavius remains quiet, allowing Jedediah the chance to speak and purge any remaining venom from his system.

Jedediah clears his throat softly. “I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I just knew I didn’t want ta’ go back.

“But then you came along, being your usual pesterin’ self, goin’ it alone. Tryin’ to find me despite us being…” He pauses. “Well...” He swallows. “Enemies, and all...”

Octavius’s heart thrums against his chest, hearing the emotion in Jedediah’s voice.

“Jedediah?” Octavius murmurs, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder.

Jedediah shakes his head, clearing his throat again.

Octavius waits patiently, but intently.

“Despite my misbehavin’ and all the sass I flung at you, I thought that was really sweet,” Jedediah finishes quietly.

Octavius blinks.

“Listen.” Jedediah twists around in his seat. “I think we’ve made some breakthroughs. Made some good changes ‘round here. And I reckon we can make it a home. Provided we keep workin’ together.”

“Agreed,” Octavius readily supplies. He lifts his eyebrows and leans forward. “And we still have our exploration of Africa.”

Face grim, Jedediah twists back around, facing front. “We can’t. You said so yourself. You ain’t touchin’ the tablet. It’s cursed.”

“Come now, Jedediah.” Octavius insists. “We don’t need to truly leave. We can still have Africa inside these walls. It is very obvious Africa exists somewhere in this building.”

Jedediah remains silent.

Not getting anywhere, Octavius ponders for a few moments.

“Perhaps if we took another trip to the library at some later date. Do research. We’ll discover it’s not the tablet making these things happen at all, but rather something else. Something more mobile. We could still have Africa.”

Jedediah turns back around, fast.

Their faces are so close, Octavius can see all the alluring shades of turquoise and blue in Jedediah’s eyes as they glow with an inner light. His lips part into a smile so wide, Octavius is left breathless by it.

Jedediah looks so very young. And happy.

Octavius ponders what Jedediah would look like clean shaven, without all that scruffiness to hide behind. The dusting ages him.

“It’ll be just you and me, Ockie! And Sweet Pea, of course.” Jedediah says, shifting back around. He pats the horse’s side.

Sweet Pea nickers at the attention, angling her head to peer adoringly at him.

Jedediah may not recognize it, but Octavius does. He is every bit as much her father as the dinosaur’s.

“And Baby, too,” Jedediah pipes up.

The steed snorts indignantly. She swings her head forward, facing front.  

Octavius doesn’t think it’s his imagination that her head droops just a little at the mention of their youngest, which is, in fact, their oldest.

Octavius pats the steed’s rump, smiling apologetically. The hellbeast is simply going to have to get used to the idea of having a Tyrannosaurus rex for a little brother.

The hellbeast shakes her head in denial.

* * *

_Later…_

The gentle bob and sway of the steed is hypnotic.

Octavius fights sleep, nodding off occasionally. He hums softly and shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“You alright back there?”

Chest rising and falling slowly, Octavius suddenly perks up. “What?” He peers around. “Oh.” Clearing his throat, he sighs. “Never better.”

“It’s just a little ways further. And then we’ll be home.”

Octavius nods, leaning his weight against Jedediah’s back. If Jedediah minds, he hasn't mentioned it.

A great surge of affection sweeps over Octavius. The corners of his mouth quivers with the effort not to smile.

Jedediah is warm. The kind of warmth Octavius could sink into. Half-asleep, he presses his cheek against Jedediah’s back, nuzzling close.

This feels natural.

He feels safe. Content. He’s never sought physical contact without reason before.

 _Octavian_ , and later, _Augustus,_ was quick to seek physical solace. But it was with purpose; as a means to an end.

A brush of his palm against an arm, here; his lips lingering for a moment longer against a hand, there. His gaze beckoning the willing and ambitious to make their way to his bedchamber. He could be persuasive without saying a word.

Past and present collide.

He imagines simply leaning forward and brushing his palms against the tops of leather-covered thighs, pressing his pelvis firmly, signalling his interest and desire to couple.

Of Jedediah being coy rather than stubborn, at first pretending to not notice or care what Octavius is doing, but then intentionally submitting when Octavius leans in hard, letting his head fall back with a soft, breathy sigh.

At the unspoken invitation he would grip Jedediah’s jaw and kiss him. After that, he would waste very little time in dragging him off the steed.

With permission. Always with permission, he would lie him down and undo the knot to the neckerchief, and slowly pull the red cloth from Jedediah’s neck.

He would sink into their embrace. Stroke his fingers over the creases at the corners of Jedediah’s eyes. Cup his cheek. Nuzzle his neck. Worship him with feather light kisses to an ear, and make quick work of the many buttons of that flimsy blue shirt, intent to discover hidden wonders.

Octavius would revel in the elusive warm skin before he sees it. Let his hands roam. Words spilling from his lips unbidden, whispering sweet nothings between kisses against Jedediah’s neck and shoulder.

Vulnerability would shine from Jedediah’s eyes, but willingness would be there also. His body would be pliant and loving.

His hand would trail down Jedediah’s trembling stomach, and then slowly inch his way down, palm dropping down to cup Jedediah through his leather breeches. Rub him and press his lips against the bulge, and lightly stroke and nibble him through the dark material.

He would revel at hearing Jedediah’s hitching breaths. Feel his body writhe.

Drive him wild before pulling back and dipping his hand inside the breeches, free him and feel the desire swollen against his palm.

Excitement ricochets throughout Octavius’s entire being, making his heart quicken its pace.

A prickle of heat brings him back to his senses, and he startles awake. His breath explodes out of him in a rush.

He abruptly jolts back from Jedediah, whipping his gaze this way and that. He swallows hard, taking a shaky breath.

“Octy?” Jedediah says, his head twists to the side. “Everything alright?”

Octavius lifts a trembling hand to his head. It was a dream. Only a dream.

For a moment he is too shocked to speak, believing he had unwittingly overstepped the boundaries of friendship. While Jedediah has been more than patient with him thus far, he can only forgive Octavius’s presumption for so long before he’ll begin to view him as debauched and repugnant. Even Rome would think him bestial at how many times he has lost control around this man. He sags in relief that he hasn’t crossed yet another line.

Still somewhat disoriented from sleep, he drops his arm, overcompensates, and loses his balance. His hands jerk up, grabbing hold of Jedediah's waist before he can topple over the side of the steed.

He squeezes too tight, causing Jedediah to suck in a shocked breath, but at Octavius’s erratic movements, Jedediah’s hand shoots up, lightning quick, and grabs hold of his wrist to steady him.

Octavius’s hand automatically opens at the pressure being applied to his arm and he feels, to his surprise, the _thump_ , _thump_ , _thumping_ of Jedediah's heart.

Octavius quiets, now fully awake. He marvels, clutching tightly. The beating against his palm is wondrous. He’s never felt Jedediah’s heartbeat before.

His brow furrows.

Jedediah cranes his neck. “What’s going on back there?”

Octavius flicks his gaze up.

What _is_ going on?

There is the fascination for this… _incredible_ person that isn’t going away.

The incessant lust. It burns him how much he desires this man. But he will wait.

He will wait.

Because of their strengthening friendship. Because it means something.

“I’m bracing myself,” Octavius finally replies.  

Jedediah twists around in his seat, dislodging Octavius’s hand. “Hey.” His voice is soft.

Octavius lifts his gaze, and blinks. He tilts his head.

Jedediah may not have classical features or a delicate, androgynous comeliness, but there is no question at all that he is the most beautiful man Octavius has ever met.

Octavius’s lips part.

Jedediah smiles. His expression is so very earnest and his eyes are kind.

Octavius squints, tilting his head to the other side.

“I gotcha. I ain’t about to let ya fall.”

Octavius nods slowly, returning Jedediah’s smile.

When Jedediah turns back around, Octavius rests his head once more against his warm back, holding tight. He closes his eyes.

The fascination. The care. The lust. The friendship. It has all happened so slowly over time, he never even noticed the fall. “I’m afraid it may already be too late.”

* * *

_Later…_

For the sake of appearance, they decide to enter the _Hall of Miniatures_ under their own power. One on either side of the steed.

Jedediah makes a startled gasp at the sight of a gargantuan bench in the middle of the hall. His mouth twists in distaste.

With some measure of guilt, Octavius thinks he should have prepared him. It is quite the shock.

“What in the Sam Hill is _that?”_

Octavius turns his head, eyes twinkling.

Jedediah lifts his arms and points. _“T_ _hat_ _._ What is that?”

“It’s a bench, darling.” Octavius lifts his chin, surveying the eyesore. “Atrocious, isn’t it?”

Jedediah waves an arm, dumbstruck. “It’s oppressive.” He rolls his wrist, affected. “It's too dang big for the room!”

“Abysmal,” Octavius agrees.

“I mean, like, it don’t match with the decor at all!”

Octavius shakes his head. “Criminal.”

“It’s God-awful!”

“Someone should be flogged.”

Jedediah stomps his foot, hands on his hips. “I’m protesting!”

Octavius suppresses a smile. Finally they agree on something.

They hear a noise and turn their heads. The Mayans are whooping it up in their diorama, bouncing up and down in manic glee.

Octavius and Jedediah follow the direction of their gazes, and freeze in their tracks.

Gaping, Octavius can only stare in horror at the chaos they are met with.

The room is writhing with movement and chaos.

Romans and the Americans are having a free-for-all.

Punches are thrown. Bodies are lifted over shoulders and body slammed to the ground. Swords and non-working rifles are clashing.

As Octavius and Jedediah watch, the Romans and the Americans tip back their heads and are laughing.

Arms akimbo, Jedediah cocks his head to the side. “Huh.”

There is litter strewn everywhere.

Felix emerges from the shadows with a disheveled Bill. They are holding hands.

Octavius's fingers twitch.

His attention is riveted.

He peers down at the space between Jedediah and himself. His gaze finds a gloved palm. He is tempted to brush his hand against Jedediah's knuckles and hook his pinky around one of Jedediah’s fingers.

Bill brings Felix’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

Felix blushes and looks away demurely. The back of his sandaled heel lifts up a fraction.

Octavius tilts his head, profoundly affected.

Hearing a startled yelp, Octavius and Jedediah startle, and whip their heads to see American women being tossed over Roman shoulders.

The women’s legs kick up and down as they squeal in delight.

Roman bodies twist and bounce, dancing in a ragged circle as the red-suited band plays on.

Off to the side, cowboys drink soldiers under the table and are singing power ballads. Some even have their arms around each other’s necks, swaying to the music and hiccuping dirty limericks.

Octavius and Jedediah peer at each other. They blink.

After several long moments of stunned silence, Jedediah removes a glove and lifts his fingers to his mouth. He whistles sharply.

Octavius is simply struck dumb. Both at the bared hands and at the chaos surrounding them.

The band stops playing with a screech, and Romans and Americans alike stop their games, and cast their gazes over.

Jedediah lifts his eyebrows. Glove back on his hand, he stands arms akimbo. His eyes are flat.

“Y’all having fun?” he deadpans.

A half-smoked cigar falls from a cowboy’s mouth.

A shout rings out through the crowd.

“Jed!” Silas shouts from the middle of a group of doting, scantily clad women. “Well, smack my ass and call me Susan! Ol’ Jed’s back!” He raises his head, and howls, “Whoo-wee!”

Jedediah turns to Octavius, embarrassed. “I’m havin’ a talk with him.”

Silas hurdles past several stunned onlookers, pushing, jumping, and shoving his way through the crowd. He bounces up and down.

Octavius’s lips curl and his hand automatically hovers over his sword hilt.

Jedediah notices and quells his actions with a narrowed-eyed glance.

It is then they get a good look at Silas.

Jedediah’s lips part. He whips his head toward Octavius, stunned.

Half of Silas’s face is bandaged. He looks half-mummified. He peers through the gauze with two black eyes. His nose is swollen to twice its normal size.

At Jedediah’s silent accusation, Octavius lifts his chin regally. His expression is as stoical and impenetrable as stone.

Pursing his mouth, his eyes dart. “I was provoked.”

Silas rushes forward, arms outstretched. “Jed!”

Jedediah stiffens beside Octavius, holding up his hands in a defensive posture. “Ah, dagnabit!”

Silas grabs Jedediah about the waist and lifts him off his feet, trapping him in a bear hug.

There is laughter and a few catcalls from the crowd of onlookers.

Octavius squeezes his eyes shut at the reunion, a spark of jealousy spreading through him like wildfire. Turning his head to face the far wall, he lifts his chin.

The surrounding Americans answer Silas’s gesture with a series of raucous cheers, closing in.

“No touching, no touching, no touching!”

Jedediah flails his arms, shouting, and kicking his legs. The moment his booted toes hit the floor, he ducks, bobs, and weaves, fighting to untangle himself from Silas and the approaching mob.

Breaking free, he pulls at his clothes, smoothing them down. Clenching his fists, he screams and bounces in place.

He lifts his arm and points, warning Silas to keep his distance.

Aggravated, he then bounces up and down some more. His fists clench and unclench. “I don’t like being manhandled!”

Octavius lifts his gaze, dark eyes shining.

The impassioned pronouncement lifts his spirits. He clasps his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels a little. He ducks his head, hiding his relief.

He doesn’t wish to gloat, but at least _he_ has permission to touch. Within reason.

“Aw, shucks, Jed,” Silas says. “We’re just happy to see ya alive, i’zall.”

Behind them, Octavius hears a _zing_ above the commotion the Mayans are making.

He whips his head.

Arm shooting up, he snatches a dart from the air before it can find its target in Silas’s neck.

Silas, still being held at arm’s length from Jedediah, lets out a slow breath, in shock.

He stares at the sharp dart pinched between Octavius’s fingers.

Eyes wide, he breathes, “Shit fire, boy. Hot damn!”

Jedediah squints. He leans against the hellbeast. His voice is hushed. “Oh, good golly.”

Octavius turns toward the Mayans. He holds up the dart for them to see and arches an eyebrow. Gaze hard, he slowly shakes his head and snaps the dart in two.

He tosses it to the floor.

The Mayans fall silent.

At the act of war, all traces of revelry vanish. The Romans quickly fall into a wobbly formation according to rank, snatching shields from off the floor.

Felix and Bill stand back to back.

Americans —  men and women — grab chairs, shovels, anything within arm’s reach.

Several men and women smash brown long-necked bottles against tables. They thrust their weapons out in front of them.

A madam parts the crowd along with the scantily clad women from Silas’s harem. A handsome woman of African descent, she is dressed from head to toe in black lace and shimmering burgundy. Eyes hard, body twisting in sinuous grace, she pulls a whip from one hip and a riding crop from another. Flicking both her wrists, she cracks her weapons.

Her women shout, their raised voices furious and unafraid.

“Hey!” Jedediah finds his balance and pivots, turning to face the Mayans. He lifts his palm toward the unified front. “Do you want us to come up there?”

The Mayans gape and take a collective step back. They vigorously shake their heads and slip from view.

Octavius’s eyes glint. He lifts his chin.

* * *

_Only slightly later…_

After both the Americans and the Romans clear most of the litter from the floor, the Chinese railroad workers rig up a pulley and harness to lift the hellbeast back into the Old West diorama.

Before she is pulled up, Octavius strides over to comb his fingers through her mane and to whisper: “Be good.” He pats her one more time and watches her go. She whinnies as she is yanked off her hooves, and Octavius gives her a Roman salute for courage. Her eyes blink, and then she is fine.

While Octavius was occupied, many of the Americans come forward to welcome Jedediah back into the fold, some boisterous and happy. Others simply grunt.

Jedediah takes the welcomes in stride, as long as the various members don’t attempt to hug him. He accepts handshakes well enough, but he steps back each time someone lifts their arms.

Once Octavius returns, every so often, Jedediah pulls a cowpoke or a woman aside and makes introductions.

Octavius has met Calamity Jane. She is rowdy and plain spoken. Extremely so. And lively. And crass. She eyes Octavius up and down, taking his measure. Obviously she likes what she sees because Octavius believes he may have been propositioned no less than four times in three minutes. His eyes dart to Jedediah and he demures even though what he desires to do is climb up a rope to escape her.

He meets One-Eyed Charley. Gruff and taciturn, Charley holds his shoulders straight, clasping his hands in front of him. He does not speak, but he nods with one eye that seems to glare into Octavius’s soul. If Octavius tilts his head just right, he can just make out androgynous high cheekbones and a woman’s shapely build underneath thick, baggy clothes and breeches. Once again, his eyes dart to Jedediah’s, and communicates with his gaze that Charley’s secret is safe.

He meets Nat Love, Johnny Ringo, Doc Holliday — the latter two, not together. The tension is thick with these two, and it is very clear from their icy stares, off-the-cuff comments, and posturing they should stay separated at all costs.

Octavius does not introduce anyone from his army. Some of his men are still cleaning up the mess on the floor, but most of them are finished. They stand at attention and wait patiently. He is truly disappointed with them. He had given commands to restore order and they became part of the chaos. Although, secretly, he is relieved.

Not a single life was lost.

Jedediah looks down at his boots. “Well.” He glances up at Octavius. “I best be makin’ tracks.”

Octavius lifts his gaze. Sweet Pea is already at the top, flicking her tail impatiently. He shifts his focus to Jedediah and graces him with a shy smile, a small quirk of the lips.

Jedediah lights up, smiling back.  

Both of them hold their pose for a moment.

And then Jedediah clears his throat. He captures the milling crowds attention, and then points up to his diorama. There are no words. He simply points.

His people begin ambling toward the Old West. One by one, each person, by rope or by their own power, climb back up into their diorama.

A lady with a long, flowing white dress eyes the wall gravely. Her eyes dart between her dress and her lily-white parasol, and purses her painted mouth.

A dirty-faced cowboy kindly stirrups his hands to offer her a boost. She glances down at it, and pauses. After a beat, she blows out a breath and takes the offered assistance.

“Don’t look up my dress,” she throws over her shoulder, hooking her parasol over her arm.

The cowboy shakes his head and averts his gaze. “No, ma’am.”

The madam gathers up her whip and hangs it about her neck like a string of fine pearls. She strides with poise and purpose over to Lucius.

With her riding crop, she lifts his chin. She slips her mouth into a seductive pose. Her shrewd dark eyes holds his in mute seduction for a moment before she pulls back.

“Until next time,” she murmurs, and strides off.

Lucius cranes his neck to watch her go.

Silas saunters past Titus, smacking him on the behind. “Be seeing ya, tight ass.”

Titus jumps at the swat and balls his hands into fists. “It’s Titus!”

Calamity Jane swaggers over to a group of men struggling to find handholds. She stands with her hands on her hips, feet spread. Impatiently, she shoulders her way past. “Step aside, boys.” And then she is climbing up and over the side.

Octavius watches all this in silence. Blinking, he gapes at Jedediah. Whether Jedediah wants to be or not, he truly is the cowboy’s leader.

Jedediah’s mouth quirks into a knowing smile at Octavius’s quiet appraisal. Laugh lines appear at the corners of his eyes. He folds his arms over his chest.

“Rise above it, Octavius,” Jedediah says, and he saunters away.

Bill stands staring after Felix, hesitating. He lifts his arm and waves. Felix waves back eagerly, before returning to the composure of a soldier, however Octavius can still see the quiet yearning shine in his eyes.

Jedediah breezes past the lovers, and says to the straggler, “Get movin’. Scoot.”

Bill obeys with a wistful glance back.

So much for romance.

Octavius is left staring after Jedediah.

Jedediah doesn’t look back.

Feeling bereft, he bites his lip and glances down at his sandaled feet. He wants Jedediah to stay with him.  

With nimble movements Jedediah follows after the last climbing cowboy, his limbs moving strongly as he scales the wall.

In no time, Jedediah has climbed over the side of the diorama and is with his people. The crowd dissipates, disappearing from view.

Octavius stares intently, willing Jedediah to look at him. “Glance back,” he whispers.

He wants to climb up to Jedediah, spin him around and proclaim himself a liar. The kiss they shared wasn’t simply a ruse to rouse Jedediah’s ire. It meant more. So much more.

He wants more time. He needs time to understand. To process. They could go to Africa. Anywhere. As long as they are together. All Jedediah would have to do is —

“Glance back.”

Jedediah is facing the Old West, just on the edge. Frustrated, Octavius purses his lips.

Up to this point, these thoughts, these emotions have been all about _him_ with little regard for Jedediah’s feelings. His wants or his needs.

The sensation of Jedediah’s beating heart thumping against his palm has brought home several realizations and strengthens his convictions about their existence within the museum. Jedediah is alive. He is a person with thoughts, feelings, and desires.

He is not a conquest. Nor someone to warm Octavius’s bed.

Octavius is in love.

There.

He’s acknowledged it.

It’s out in the universe now, whirling and spinning.

He gasps. Raising a trembling hand, he places it against his chest. He cannot feel it with his fingertips, but his heart is trapped inside his armor, beating frantically.

His soul expands.

Octavius wants Jedediah to feel that same love, too. For him. To know that what he feels for Jedediah is requited. He believes it is. Deep down. He’s caught glimpses of something. He’s certain of it. Shy smiles. Warm touches. Glances that linger just a little too long. Chatter that never ceases. But the most telling conversation is through his eyes. Whatever Jedediah’s mouth is saying, he always speaks with his eyes.

“Glance back.”

Jedediah is almost completely hidden from view now. His tousled mop peeks out from underneath his Stetson and bounces freely with each step.

He hasn’t looked back.

Octavius deflates.

So perhaps he is fooling himself with wishful thinking and the love he feels is unrequited, after all. Jedediah cares for him. There is no doubt about that. One does not offer their back to the enemy to ensure the safety of another without some form of attachment involved. Only it isn’t love. At least not the type of love Octavius fervently wishes Jedediah to feel for him.

His chin quivers and he quickly shifts his gaze away and downward.

It has been decided. It is finished.

He will focus all his energies toward strengthening their friendship and vows never to make Jedediah feel uncomfortable with his flirting again. As should have been done all along.

Movement catches his eye.

At the last possible moment, before Jedediah disappears completely, he turns his head.

He is intently focused. Searching.

When he finds Octavius, he keeps walking with purpose, but his gaze lingers.

The corners of his mouth lifts. His eyes talk. He smiles down at Octavius, ducks his head shyly, and then he is gone.

Octavius’s breath explodes out of him. Joy fills his entire being. He is made up of nothing but light. His soul catches fire.

“Yes!” Octavius lifts his fists in triumph, hopping up and down. He whirls, spinning round to find his men watching him.

Some blink. Others cock their heads, but they all come to immediate attention, backs straight, eyes forward.

Octavius peers down at the floor to gather his composure, smoothing down his pteruges and paludamentum. He clears his throat and looks up.

And then he blinks. And does a double-take. A handful of his men have rouge lip prints smudged upon their skin. He doesn’t want to know.

“Right.” Straightening his shoulders, he calls for Tiberius.

Tiberius steps forward, swallowing hard.

“I believe I made my wishes known to you before I left. You were to restore order to the West. Was I not clear?”

“You were, my liege. Yes.” Tiberius glances down. “And, we did.”

Marcus pipes up, stepping forward. “My liege, the blame falls solely on my shoulders. Mine, alone. I take full responsibility.”

“Silence.” Octavius flicks his eyes to Marcus. “I am speaking with Tiberius.”

Marcus’s mouth thins, he nods and glances down.

Tiberius continues. “We restored order and kept the peace for two nights. Rome was triumphant. It was glorious, my liege, but the cowboys —”

“Americans,” Octavius interrupts.

Tiberius slides his eyes to Octavius, pauses, but then he nods and corrects himself.

“The Americans became restless. They…” He pauses, searches for the appropriate word. “They rebelled.”

Octavius rolls his eyes. Inwardly, he sympathizes. “Americans do have such tendencies.”

“After that, it all becomes a blur.”

“Were there casualties?” Octavius asks, already knowing the answer. He wants to hear it.

Tiberius lifts his chin. “No casualties, my liege.” His eyes are clear. “None.”

Octavius nods, grateful and relieved. Glancing over all his men, he raises his voice so that it carries to the back. “I am very disappointed. You are all representatives of the power and glory of Rome. And, of me.”

His men cast their eyes down.

“When I give an order,” Octavius continues, “I expect it obeyed.” He paces for show, and then he turns on his heel. “Dismissed.”

As his army makes their way back to their own diorama, Octavius cannot help but smile discreetly. He shakes his head.

He peers back over to the Old West where the Americans are already singing a dreadful, incomprehensible ballad. Craning his neck, he searches for Jedediah. He thinks he spies the top of his Stetson.

He is filled with a desperate longing.

His brow furrows. For all his fawning, he realizes he knows nothing about American courtship. He is unprepared, never taking the time to learn how the cowboys interact with potential romantic partners. His observations have been strategic, but only as it pertains to the art of war.

He must research and learn. And then he will begin a new war. His greatest triumph.

A battle of the heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word on the term: Eskimos. I was fearful of using this word as I strive to be respectful of as many cultures as possible while writing this story. I did not want to use an outdated or derogatory term. However, I did do some research and found that the term covers more than one group of people living in the Arctic. I am supplying a link if anyone wants to learn more:  
> https://tulugaq.wordpress.com/inuit-vs-eskimo/
> 
> **
> 
> I wish to thank my beta extraordinaire. You hold my hand, cheer me on, and provide that extra push for me to write when all I want to do is watch YouTube. Love ya, CuriousDinosaur!
> 
> **  
> Also, for those keeping up on my procedure. I will be needing surgery in a few months. Anything medical seems to be hurry-up-and-wait. I will do my best to keep writing and getting chapters distributed in a timely manner. Thank you for the well wishes, and please think good thoughts. I do appreciate them very much.


	18. Going Courtin', Part One

_Later…_

Felix races to Octavius’s side.

With one hand he grips the hilt of his sword to keep it from banging against his legs as he runs. In his other hand he grips Octavius’s new helmet to his chest. At his approach, he thrusts it forward into Octavius's waiting palms.

Octavius takes the helmet, inspecting its fine craftsmanship. The masterpiece is exquisite, intricately embossed and much finer than the one Jedediah destroyed.

“Beautiful,” Octavius compliments. He smiles and slips it on over his head. The fit is perfection. Nodding his appreciation, he says, “A far better fit than my last. Thank you.”

Felix bounces on the balls of his feet, blushing brightly at the praise, gazing at Octavius with wide-eyed admiration. He beams, bows, and salutes. “My liege!”

Taking off at a run, he grips his own newer, less intricately decorated helmet to his head so that it doesn’t sail off his skull. He hurries, taking his place in among the Roman ranks.

Octavius stands before his men all assembled in the Coliseum.

Here he recounts the previous week’s events within the building, leaving out the more private moments, and bringing the Romans quickly up to speed.

He explains the rules of the museum and its dangers.

Some of his men take his word without reservation, many are favorably impressed, others appear skeptical. Even Octavius agrees everything he’s learned is a stretch to the imagination. However, none of the Romans need look far to see the magic or the monsters that frequent their hall.

Even now a jade lion clomps its way down the corridor, causing minor tremors in the floor. It is followed by a gargantuan moose and a deeply tanned giant in a full headdress and a bright ceremonial robe jogging along after it.

Octavius ignores them all. He does not see them. They do not exist.

He paces and informs, feeling the reassuring weight of the new dagger he’s commissioned strapped to his thigh.

Halting midstep, he suddenly whirls, paludamentum twirling around the backs of his ankles. Gesturing, he casts his gaze over all of his men, his voice holding their rapt attention.

“You are all free to explore this new dominion as long as you take certain precautions, be mindful of the dangers, and be discreet with your explorations.”

Octavius has caught Cecil strolling past the dioramas several times to check if Octavius and Jedediah have returned to their exhibits, but other than that, the miniatures continue to remain largely ignored.

This pleases Octavius. He does not wish to garner anymore undo attention, simply desiring the miniatures to live their own lives separate and apart from the chaos that surrounds them.

At Octavius’s pronouncement, his men glance back and forth between one another anxiously. Their gazes drop down to their sandals, shifting their weight from one foot to the other. It would appear they have no desire for exploration.

That is perfectly acceptable with Octavius, as well. In fact, he prefers it. He is protective of his lot.

The meeting is supposed to convene in under an hour. He has a gift for oratory and has timed the speech so as not to lose his audience, but as he prepares to wind down the proceedings, he hears the sounds of distant drumbeats.

Octavius halts his speech, observing a number of his soldiers peering in the direction of the Old West diorama.

Huffing, he rolls his eyes. Obviously, he hasn’t counted on American intervention or the pull the various members of the Old West have over his men.

He offers a few more words of caution and insight, and then quickly dismisses the assembly.

Octavius exits the Coliseum.

Paludamentum swirling around him, he hurries to the edge of his diorama and peers over the side.

The Americans have all gathered on the floor, the red-suited band playing a somber beat.

Octavius’s gaze drifts over the Americans, searching, until he spots a familiar tousled blond mop half-hidden beneath a black Stetson. He draws in a sharp breath, gaze intensifying. Without thought, his palm lifts to his chest. He instantly brightens, lips stretching into a fond smile.

Jedediah cradles a bundle of what appears to be pieces of snapped wood in his arms. From Octavius’s vantage point, the pieces look to be made up of broken fencing tied together with old rags.

As Octavius watches, Jedediah crouches down with his bundle.

Setting the broken fencing down on the floor and arranging it to his liking, Jedediah pulls a couple of rocks from his pockets and begins striking them together.

Sparks fly.

Jedediah’s face begins to glow orange as the rags catch fire, flames licking at the dry wood. He gestures for his people to form a single-file line.

The Americans comply. One by one, they each line up.

Intrigued, Octavius swings his legs over the side of his diorama and climbs down.

He peers up at the Roman army, and sees his men have reversed their guarded, dour expressions of superiority and are smiling excitedly down at various members of the Old West.

Gesturing with his fist, he signals his soldiers to follow.

Their faces split into wide, childlike grins; they obey eagerly.

Once his feet hit the floor, Octavius must tug Felix back by his paludamentum. For a moment, it takes all of his strength to keep Felix in check, and with the group. Otherwise, he would have gone racing off after Bill.

Felix still has his arms outstretched hopefully as he is pulled back into the snickering, elbowing ranks.

Octavius quells his other soldiers’ teasing expressions, and their excitement with a stern look, his face a stone mask.

His army — all highly-disciplined soldiers — straighten their shoulders and stare back impassively.

Satisfied, Octavius silently directs his men to follow at a respectful distance behind him.

Once at the end of the American line, Octavius lifts his fist to signal the troop’s halt. Hand on the hilt of his sword, he ambles forward.

The drum continues its somber beat.

It is like falling into a dream.

At Octavius’s approach, the Americans turn their heads. A murmur ripples through the group.

The crowd parts, staring after Octavius as he breezes his way boldly past their numbers.

He marches up to stand beside Jedediah as though it is his right. As though it is expected, and they have been together the whole of their lives. He supposes in one way, they have been.

Coming to attention, he clasps his hands behind his back.

Jedediah spares him a curious glance, tilting his head, quietly acknowledging Octavius’s presence. A happy light of greeting ignites behind his eyes and a faint trace of a smile lifts the corners of his mouth.

Their gazes meet and hold, but they do not speak.

Jedediah does not appear to question Octavius’s right to be there or attempt to remove him from the proceedings. Instead, his eyes slide back to the flames. He stokes the bonfire, adding another piece of fencing to the blaze.

The little fire _snaps, crackles, and pops._

Jedediah appears transfixed, staring into the flames. His attention keeps diverting to the spreading conflagration, while he toys with a snapped shard of wood in his hands.

Orange light dances in his gaze, and Octavius recalls Jedediah mentioning he loved the sounds of a crackling fire.

Octavius is struck by the rueful look on Jedediah’s face.

“Come along, my little pyromaniac,” he says at last.  The words are spoken in a low tone, too quiet for the crowd to hear. “Move back before you melt.”

“Ain’t little and I ain’t a pyro-whatchamacalit,” Jedediah whispers back. It is spoken out of the side of his mouth, and equally as softly.

Octavius frowns. “I am well aware you know the word, and its meaning. Do not insult your own intelligence, my love.”

Jedediah huffs quietly, rolling his eyes.

Octavius lightly kicks at Jedediah’s boots and places a hand on his shoulder to pull him back a safer distance from the fire.

A hush settles over the crowd. Stillness. And then a wave of whispers and quiet comments ripple through the Americans at this simple, unopposed contact. The assembled confers back and forth with one another, eyebrows raised.

Once Jedediah takes the hint and scoots back, Octavius angles his head, watching Jedediah in silence, attempting to figure out what precisely it is he and the others are up to.

Shadows from the flames play across Jedediah’s face as he crouches down once again, regarding his people’s feet.

Pointing, he directs them to remove their various styles of footwear.

He is handed a boot by the first cowboy in line.

Turning the sole of the footwear so that it’s face up, he awkwardly attempts to remove the branding from the boot using the splintered stick in his hand.

It melts off the wording well enough, but it leaves a sticky, melty, lumpy, sloppy mess.  

Mouth compressed in thought, Octavius stares at the flames.

And then he pulls the new dagger from its hidden scabbard and turns it around. He kindly offers the blade to Jedediah hilt-first.

Jedediah glances over. His eyes widen slightly, lips parting. He flicks his gaze up in surprise.

Octavius nods, and continues offering the dagger. He points to the small blaze. “The trick is to heat the blade and then smooth it over the bottom of the footwear.”

Jedediah stares up at Octavius for a few moments.

Hesitantly, he takes the dagger. Whether on purpose or by accident, his gloved fingers brush against Octavius’s hand.

Octavius shudders slightly, feeling a jolt as a spark courses up his arm.

The contact lingers.

Opening his mouth, Jedediah closes it again, giving Octavius another surprised glance. He clears his throat.

"Thanks," he says quietly.

After a beat, Octavius nods, and Jedediah smooths the heated blade over the boot in his hand.

It is still a sticky mess, but it gives the bottom of the boot a polished shine.

Jedediah lights up, thrilled at his handiwork. Looking over at Octavius, fire reflecting in his gaze, he whispers, “Let freedom ring.”

Octavius blinks at the phrase. It makes entirely no sense.

He inclines his head respectfully, nevertheless, and then unsheathes his sword. Holding his own blade over the fire, he calls for his men to follow the Americans’ example and form another single-file line.

Octavius and Jedediah fall into silence, working together to melt the brands from off their people’s footwear.

* * *

_Later…_

The band plays on. A fast, celebratory melody this time.

As the rest of the miniatures wait to have the branding removed, the Americans have unanimously decided they’re going to begin their shenanigans all over again.

The celebration is in full swing.

To Octavius’s mind, it appears the Americans need very little reason to party. All someone needs do is behave as though something exciting is happening, and they’ll instantly begin celebrating. With alcohol. And dancing.

His men look to him for permission to join in on the festivities. He completely ignores those who are bouncing on the balls of their feet.

After a moment of stern eye contact, he relents with a sigh. He gestures, rolling his wrist. “Very well.”

He instructs his men to be respectful this time.

“You may relax. Have fun. Socialize. However, I do not wish to see a re-creation of the chaos I observed last night.”

He does not mention he will have them working intensely for the next two weeks to restore order and discipline over this lapse in their training. Dismissing them, his unbranded men disperse.

Felix immediately grabs Bill by the hand, and they run off together.

“It’s a hootenanny!” an American woman shouts from the back.

Stetsons are tossed up in the air.

Several the Americans swoop in to pull Roman partners into their ranks for something called the _do-si-do_.

Interested members of the brothel give the Romans a cursory once-over, while a modestly dressed woman of Asian descent twirls bashfully, showing off her pretty dress to an equally shy soldier. He takes her by the hand.

Octavius sighs, peering up at the ceiling for guidance.

His army.

They are too young, too innocent to be courting this kind of trouble. Skipping and bouncing about. Forming these kinds of attachments. It is nonsense. It is folly.

He is not ready.

“Jupiter, give me strength,” he murmurs.

Jedediah rises from his crouched position to clap Octavius on the shoulder.

“Aw, come on, Oct. Don’t fret now. This time the fun’ll be supervised.”

Hand over his chest, Octavius squeezes his eyes shut. Opens them. His heart twists. He lifts his gaze to watch his soldiers mingle.

“That is not what I’m afraid of.”

* * *

_Later…_

As Octavius and Jedediah are finishing up with the last of the branding removals, an alarm sounds among the Romans and Americans. At first it's incoherent shouting, and then —

“Protect the General! Protect the Emperor!”

The call rings out and is repeated along the Roman lines.

Soldiers nearest Octavius are jolted into action. They scramble, unsheathing their weapons.

Instantly, Octavius is surrounded by his sentinels spinning around, spears drawn and pointed toward the unknown threat. He glances at his sentinels and their weapons, and then cranes his neck to peer past them and over to Jedediah.

Jedediah’s lips are parted. His eyes dart, confused. He seems startled more than fearful by the sudden appearance of the weapons.

Casually, Octavius steps around his sentinels and places himself firmly between Jedediah and the spears. He has no wish for his friend to have a bad reaction to the brandished weapons. He stands with arms clasped behind his back, calm.

The crowd parts to reveal a single Mayan silently walking toward them.

He moves with a feral grace, and appears to be a man of some importance. His face is tattooed, as well as his chest, and he has a sharpened bone pierced through both sides of his nose.

The Mayan wears an intricately designed feathered headdress on his head and colorful beads around his neck.

His eyes are deeply set, bright and piercing; his lips are wide and thin. The corners of his mouth are drawn down, giving his entire appearance gravity and severity.

Back straight, he is a stunning image of power and strength. He holds himself with dignity, noble, with the air of a born leader.

Octavius knows in that moment he is in the presence of the Mayan chieftain. His own back straightens, prepared for a confrontation should it come to that.

His sentinels tighten their grips on their spears as the Roman and American crowd close a circle around the Mayan.

Jedediah lifts his hands, palms out.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He cranes his neck around to look past Octavius. “Boys! Come on! Spears down! He’s alone.”

The sentinels spare Jedediah a brief glance, but he is not their leader. They keep their spears raised and at the ready.

Against his better judgment, Octavius lifts his palm, and presses his hand down around the nearest spear’s tip.

“Lower your weapons,” he commands, at last.

The spears lower.

The Mayan chieftain looks at Jedediah. His impassive gaze then flicks to Octavius.

Silently, he glances toward the fire, and then points down to his feet. He raises his gaze.

His eyes glitter.

Jedediah leans close to Octavius, breath tickling Octavius’s ear.

Eyes drifting shut, lips parting, Octavius tilts his chin up. He has to suppress a responsive moan to the soft exhalations dancing on his skin.

“I think he found the brands and wants ta’ burn ‘em off his sandals, too,” Jedediah whispers, unaffected. “Whataya think? Should we help him out?”

Octavius opens his eyes, lowers his head. He simply stares at the Mayan leader, face stoically mastered.

His eyes narrow, a direct and piercing challenge to the chieftain.  

“He can make his own blasted fire and burn the brands off himself.”

Jedediah flicks his gaze, annoyed. He purses his lips thoughtfully.

Deciding to show mercy, he holds up his gloved hands to the Mayan, the universal gesture for _wait here._

He trots off. _  
_

Bending down, he grabs hold of a couple of rags that haven’t already been tossed into the flames. He ties them in a tight knot around a piece of scrap wood. Lighting the rags, he holds the wood up like a torch.

Octavius speaks out of the side of his mouth to his men should the Mayan prove deceptive and decide to attack.

He jerks his chin toward Jedediah. The sentinels follow his gaze.

“Gentlemen, that man means the world to me.” Flicking a narrowed-eyed gaze toward the chieftain, he commands the moment. He lifts his head. “Be vigilant.”

The sentinels’ fingers stiffen, curling tight around their weapons as Jedediah trots back over to the chieftain and offers him the burning torch.

“Here." He nods. "Take this to your people.”

The Mayan looks at the torch, and then slides his eyes over to Jedediah. He watches him for a long moment with a flat, bead-black stare. It makes him resemble a bird of prey. Hesitantly, he reaches out.

Jedediah remains completely still as the chieftain wraps a hand around the handle of the torch. He lets go and slowly drops his arm harmlessly to the side. “Hold it away from you,” he instructs, unhurriedly pantomiming the action.

The chieftain’s lips open, staring up at the flames in wonder. He lowers his hawk-sharp gaze back to Jedediah and watches him with a serious intensity. After another moment, his mouth compresses and he bows deeply. Holding the torch away from his body, he inclines his head and then regally departs.

“Make room for ‘em, boys!” Jedediah shouts, commanding the staring Romans and Americans to allow the chieftain to pass by them in peace.

Once the Mayan is gone, Jedediah turns back to Octavius. He cocks a hip and settles his hands on his waist.

Octavius arches an eyebrow. “You were quite diplomatic."

Lifting a shoulder, Jedediah says, “You never know when we might need ‘em on our side someday.”

“I’m afraid it takes more than the passing of a torch to make peace.”

Jedediah shrugs again, sticking his hands in his pockets.

He ambles back over to Octavius’s side, looking bashful and hopeful at the same time. “Yeah. Probably. But it’s a start.”

Octavius’s heart swells. While he could not bring himself to hand over the torch to the Mayan, he feels no small measure of pride that Jedediah could. “Indeed.”

* * *

_Later..._

Octavius and Jedediah stand apart from the revelers, tracking the celebration, watching over their people. They stand close.

As an afterthought, Jedediah says, “Almost forgot.” He pulls Octavius’s dagger from the back of his belt where it had been safely tucked.

Admiring the blade one final time, he flips it around and hands it back, hilt-first. Nodding, he says, “That’s a mighty fine dagger.”

Octavius makes no move to take it. “It is a _pugio_. Of the finest quality. They are often decorated and highly prized as a symbol representing one’s status.”

Jedediah’s eyes slide down to the dagger. He grins and nods. “It’s real pretty.”

Octavius inclines his head. “It is yours.”

Jedediah’s brow crinkles in surprise. He tilts his head.

Octavius feels Jedediah’s gaze studying him. His own cheeks warm. He glances down at his sandals and lightly rocks on his heels. “It isn’t precisely a machete, I realize. However, I plan to take a sojourn to the library with a group of my men in the near future so Felix will have a better understanding of what one is supposed to look like.”

Unstrapping the scabbard from his thigh, he momentarily takes the blade from Jedediah’s still proffered hand. He sheathes the dagger and hands it back. “I hadn’t planned on giving it to you so soon, but you had need of it.”

Caught in a posture of surprise, Jedediah eyes Octavius thoughtfully for a moment. He glances down and turns the dagger over, marveling at the intricate detail embossed into the scabbard. Lifting his eyes, he says, “It matches your helmet. It even has little angels on it!”

Octavius moves to stand closer, tilting his head.

“It is Cupid. He is the son of the goddess Venus, and Mars, the god of war. My family is one of the most ancient, patrician families in all of Rome. We are her descendants through her mortal son, Aeneas. Cupid’s presence on the blade symbolizes our lineage with the divine.”

Jedediah takes a closer look at the dagger. His thumb strokes over the handle. His lips part. He glances back up at Octavius in awe. His smile is blinding. “It has my initials, _J.S.S.,_ engraved into the handle!”

For one delightful moment, Octavius allows himself to imagine a life where such a look is commonplace. He inclines his head and nods. “I now consider you part of my family.”

Octavius's face is impassive, but he holds his breath at the admission of the gift’s intended purpose, a conflagration spreading through his veins and to his heart like wildfire.

Jedediah pauses, considers this, puzzling over it. His face twists in confusion.

“So…” He blinks. “So you’re sayin’ we’re brothers?”

Octavius shakes his head. “Not as such.” He lifts his chin, straightening his shoulders. His face settles into a mask of stoicism. “I believe I made my intentions known to you in the library. I fully intend to court you properly as my friend. And as my future lover and betrothed.”

He pauses to gather courage, and takes a breath. “If you are willing, that is.”

Jedediah hums, dipping his chin.

His gaze flies up to Octavius’s face. He stares at Octavius for a moment of blank-eyed incomprehension. And then his eyes widen. He glances sharply down at the masterpiece in his hands. “Are you…” He squints. “Wait a sec. That sounds like…” Tilting his head, he asks, “Are you proposing ta’ me?”

Octavius steps back, hands once again clasped behind his back with military precision. He lifts his chin. “Yes.”

They stand in silence, facing one another.

Jedediah doesn’t comment right away. He opens his mouth; closes it. Octavius cannot read Jedediah’s thoughts from his expression. His eyes look entirely blank. However, he doesn’t have an instant conniption or drop the blade as though it were on fire either.

At last, Jedediah recovers enough to speak. “W-Why?” he croaks, voice vibrating with shock.

Octavius takes another step back, uncertain. It’s a moment before he can make his brain work, and then another several moments before his brain connects with his mouth.

“I would think that would be obvious.”

Jedediah rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, you wanna poke me. I kinda got that impression a coupla nights ago.” He shakes his head as though to wrap his mind around the proposal. “But, gettin’ hitched?”

Eyes wide, Octavius cringes at the crassness of that word: _poke._

It isn't simply that. He won’t deny that it's certainly part of it, but it's so much more. He desires to make his past mistake right, but his mouth and brain lose connection once again.

Jedediah must see his stricken expression, because guilt flashes across his face.

They simultaneously open and close their mouths silently. Octavius holds up his hands at the same moment Jedediah does. Speaking at the same time, words tumble over each other. They close their mouths.

“— you first.”

“— no, you.”

Jedediah takes the lead.

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. Holds it. Blows out that same breath. “Okay. Let’s just slow it down for a minute here, alright? I see that look in your eyes, Ockie, so I’m gonna stop ya before you say anything we’re both goin’ to regret. Okay?”

Octavius nods in agreement, swallowing a rising lump in his throat. His eyes sting.

Jedediah cocks his hip. He nods. “I see us as family, too, Oct.”

Octavius cannot stop the look he graces Jedediah with. It happens naturally, filled with affection and hope. His soul is in his gaze.

Jedediah sucks in a breath. He glances away. Confused, he glances back.

Inwardly, Octavius acknowledges that Jedediah is extremely overwhelmed, flummoxed even.

Jedediah clears his throat. “You know relationships that start out under extreme circumstances never work, right?”

Octavius’s stomach drops. He glances down at his sandals.

Of course he knows. Thrice over: Clodia, Scribonia, Livia.

“Stressful situations are notorious for magnifying emotions,” Jedediah lectures. “It feels real, mind, but all it is — it's just human nature. That's all. Survival instinct.”

Octavius blinks, tilting his head.

Jedediah is rationalizing, but his words are intense, focused inward, and rapid fire as though he is attempting to convince more than Octavius of his own statement’s validity.

Jedediah’s brows knit together as another thought strikes him. “I mean. You didn’t feel this way about me before the last coupla weeks, right?” he prompts, watching Octavius’s eyes.

His gaze turns kind.

Octavius deflates. It is the worst kind of rejection. It isn’t something he is accustomed to. In any form. He backs further away, suddenly feeling humiliated. It’s all he can do to bow respectfully. Words stick in his throat. Bothered he may stammer, he dismisses himself with a simple, quiet, “Excuse me.”

Jedediah squeezes his eyes shut.

Octavius turns on his heel.

“Wait. Ockie, stop.”

Octavius halts midstep. They both turn around. Jedediah slaps his leather-covered thigh. His eyes are bright. He glances down at the dagger; he holds it up imploringly with both hands, offering it back.

Octavius stares at the blade, but refuses to take it.

Wetting his lips, Jedediah tries again. “You don’t even know me!”

“I know enough,” Octavius offers quietly.

“Do you?” Jedediah rocks on his heels. “Why is it I feel I know nothin’ about you? I ask you questions and ya just —” he waves his arm “— clam up.”

Octavius flicks his gaze to the furthest wall.

The truth of the matter is he does not want Jedediah to know anything about him. Nothing from the past. Only the man he is now. The one not caught up in, or forced to defend himself against, the machinations of others. A better man, a kinder man. The man he wants to be for himself, as well as for Jedediah.

His mouth thins. A thousand different variations of this explanation dance on his tongue. He offers none of them, saying nothing.

“Listen,” Jedediah says. “‘Tavius, come on. I ain't trying ta’ hurt your feelings here. It’s just. Doncha think we should get to know each other first? Why not build on what we have and see where it goes? It's only fair.” He spreads his arms wide. “It might be you can’t even stand me!”

Octavius blinks.

Jedediah’s face reddens, as though he’s said too much. Ducking his head, he swallows with difficulty. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Later.” He wets his lips. “Later, if ya still want…” He rolls his wrist, at a loss for words for once. “If you still want this after we spend more time together. Get to know each other without the entire museum trying to kill us, for like, two seconds. Then...” He shrugs, still at a loss. His brow crinkles, and he lifts his eyes. “Then ask me again.”

Somewhere, in Jedediah's speech, comes the moment Octavius realizes Jedediah never said _no._ His answer was simply: _not yet._

His battered hope expands in his throat. Jedediah still wants to spend time with him. He's simply proving he’s bright and intelligent and thinking. That he doesn’t want to rush into something that should so-obviously be nurtured and allowed to mature.

He wants them to grow up together.

There. Right there.

In that moment —  something inside Octavius shifts, and he falls a little deeper in love.

Their gazes lock and hold.

“As you wish.” Dropping his gaze, Octavius steps forward and curls Jedediah’s fingers around the scabbarded blade. He lifts his eyes; his manner is kind. “This was made for you. Keep it. As a gift. A token of my esteem.”

A small smile steals across Jedediah’s mouth. He nods, clearing his throat.

They stand in silence once more, facing each other, touching and not touching.

Pursing his lips, humor returning to his gaze, Jedediah abruptly changes the subject. “So…” His mouth quirks. “Cupid’s your uncle.”

Octavius shrugs and clasps his hands behind his back. “Somewhat. Distantly. Far removed. And the gods have their own unique hierarchy.”

Jedediah huffs out a breath, holding the dagger up to the light. “This is beautiful.” He pauses. “But these ain’t little Cupids ta’ me. These are angels.”

Octavius shrugs again; he could argue the point, but it is of very little consequence, really. He senses this aspect of his personality is shifting to accommodate this entirely different and somewhat incomprehensible worldview.  

“It is _your_ dagger, darling. Call them what you like.”

Jedediah glances back at the gift, turning it over in his hands. “A lot of work went into this.”

Octavius inclines his head. He does not disagree.

“I see Lambert. The cobra.” Jedediah continues turning the scabbarded blade over, finding other hidden treasures within the designs. He squints, holding the dagger close. “Dexter. The dog creatures.” He laughs. “Our daughter.”

“Son,” Octavius pipes up. He turns the scabbard around and points out Sweet Pea. “Our eldest.”

Jedediah looks up sharply. His eyes are wide. “You adopted my horse?”

Mischief dances in Octavius’s eyes. He darts his gaze, and avoids answering the question. He simply points out the next design: an ax, representing Attila.

Jedediah squints and nods. “What’re these wavy, squiggly lines?”

Octavius looks where Jedediah’s finger is tracing. “You.”

Jedediah blinks.

“It represents the wind that swept you to me.”

Jedediah’s eyes brighten, and he bites his lip. He gazes at Octavius, intent and thoughtful. There is an unfamiliar light shining behind his gaze. It isn’t so much stricken, as uncertain. He dips his head in silence, cheeks turning bright pink.

Quietly, he says, “Oct—”

Before Jedediah can recover his bearings, Octavius leans forward until their breaths mingle. He dips his chin, tilting his head. His lips part. He’s on the verge of finding his voice and seeking permission.

Just then there is a commotion breaking out amongst the cowboys. Johnny Ringo and Doc Holliday are back at it again.

They spill out onto the floor. Some of the Americans jeer and shout to the two combatants. The Romans are silent, waiting for an order from Octavius.

“Hey!” Jedediah takes off running, scabbard in his hand. “Hey!”

Octavius darts after him with a few soldiers already in tow.

The Romans separate the two miscreants.

Johnny Ringo looks at Doc, glaring hard. Suddenly, he whips out his pistol. It flashes like a blaze of silver.

Octavius marches into the gun’s path. He swats the pistol out of Ringo’s palm, sending it sailing end over end onto the floor with a sharp, metallic _clank._

Ringo stares down at his empty hand, open mouthed.

“Buffoon.” Octavius wrinkles his nose. “You smell strongly of drink.”

Doc rolls his eyes, and then gives him a strange, funny hint of a smile. “There’s a bit of news!” Arms spread wide, he sways to the side, staggers, also very much inebriated, and blows Ringo a taunting kiss heavily laden with mockery. “I’m your huckleberry.”

Octavius blinks in incomprehension.

“Why, you—” Ringo launches himself forward at Doc, fists swinging.

“Enough!” Jedediah grabs Ringo from behind, lifting him off his feet. He shakes him to gain his attention. “Settle down!

“Asshole!” Ringo shouts within Jedediah’s grip. He quakes with fury, pointing at Doc. Doc’s lips quirk. “You. are. an. Asshole!”

“You!” Jedediah points to Doc. “Take a walk. Now!”

Doc bows drunkenly to Jedediah with flourish, and then saunters off singing in an offbeat tune. He twirls once, and then saunters back into the crowd, disappearing.

Jedediah roughly releases Ringo. He points to the opposite side of the room. Ringo goes, grumbling, scuffing his boots against the floor.

Octavius arches an eyebrow, hands clasped behind his back. “Something really needs done about those two.”

“Tell me about it!” Jedediah spreads his arms wide. He drops them, slapping them against his thighs. “I’d send ‘em home with notes to their mommas. But I’m it!”

Octavius arches his other eyebrow.

* * *

_Later..._

Octavius stands alone, observing.

The Americans, it would seem, have a wealth of frenetic energy. It is not just Jedediah. If they are not dancing, they are playing. If they are not playing they are mock fighting. They are constantly in motion.

Even the back of the American women’s gathered-up hair dip and sway as each woman whirls and dances on the floor.

The music the red-suited band plays is still appallingly bad, but Octavius takes the time to observe the Americans. Men and women mingling, of a variety of different appearances and wardrobe choices, bobbing up and down, skipping, hooking their arms to and fro with various dancing partners.

The women of the group cock their heads in flirty angles, spinning, twirling, and kicking their legs. This draws laughter from his men as they join in the gaiety.

His forehead wrinkles.

In his time, the high born and wealthy did not dance. They hired dancers to perform for them. The dancers were considered professionals of the lowest standing. Their dances were often overtly erotic, very indecent. Sometimes their gyrations were comic and even frightening.

Because it was considered beneath their station, the highborn of his society would sit and observe the lowest of the low revel in their diversions. Like animals.

It was a form of entertainment for the wealthy.

Octavius remembers being bored by such nonsense. He would sit, dismissive of the entire affair, lips twisted in distaste, but in his heart of hearts, he wanted to dance. Perhaps not with unrestrained physical abandon, but he found his body naturally wanting to respond to the music. It was only by sheer force of will that he held himself in check.

He is momentarily swept up by the enthusiasm of the dancers. Hands clasped behind his back, he bounces on the balls of his feet a few steps as he slips, quiet and unhurried, through the outer circle of revelers.

Before long, several of the Americans and Romans break off from the group, singing and dancing close to the unattended fire.

They scatter as Octavius hustles them away. 

Glancing up towards the Old West, he sees the hellbeast bobbing her head enthusiastically and shifting her forelegs back and forth in time with the music.

He lost Jedediah in the crowd earlier, and spots him now, climbing to the top of the diorama to look after the steed.

Jedediah talks quietly to the horse, patting her. She neighs softly in response. He holds out his hand, and Sweet Pea lifts her head, passing her muzzle over Jedediah's shoulder in an equine hug, blowing puffs of air out through her nose.

Octavius’s heart skips a beat at this happy little family scene.

As though sensing his attention, Jedediah falters and slows. He turns his eyes to Octavius. His mouth quirks up.

Octavius gives him a lopsided grin.

Distracted, he stumbles, tripping over nothing. He does a little dance sideways to avoid falling into the fire.

He isn’t entirely successful.

His arm goes into the flame.

It is quick, and his eyes fly open wide. He jerks back, but the damage is done.

The pain is bright and sharp, a nauseating ripple of agony shredding its way up his arm. It takes his breath away. For a moment, strength ebbs from his limbs. Tears prick his eyes as his vision blurs for a moment.

The next thing he is aware of is that Sweet Pea has dived down to the floor in a flash of sparks.

Jedediah swings his legs, vaulting out of his saddle. He jogs the short distance over to Octavius. His eyes are panicked.

“Ockie! What —”

Octavius’s head jerks up. Annoyed, he holds his arm against himself, backing away. Of course Jedediah would have seen his blunder.

He doesn’t want to look at his arm, which he is certain is melting, and does not wish Jedediah to see such a grotesque sight. In his mind’s eye, he recalls Teddy’s description of the terrible horror that was the _Great Writing by Candlelight Conflagration of 1967._

“Show me,” Jedediah demands.

Octavius shakes his head. “I-It’s fine. Really.”

“Oct…” Jedediah warns, his voice rough. “Lemme see.”

“It’s my own folly. I should have commissioned longer bracers.”

Jedediah’s lips thin, his eyes connecting with Octavius’s. His brows snap together. Worry turns his voice sharp. “Quit your dad-blame stallin’ and lemme see.” He strips off his gloves.

“I’m not stall —” Octavius’s eyes go wide. His head jerks up. He freezes, breath hitching. His pupils might have dilated.  

Jedediah tosses the gloves on the floor and grabs Octavius’s wrist.

Octavius is too gobsmacked to move.

Stunned mute, he blinks down, feeling Jedediah’s warm palm against his skin for the first time. Tension melts from his limbs.

Forgetting the pain and the fear, he watches Jedediah’s face and allows Jedediah to gently pull his arm from his chest.

Octavius steps into the contact, dropping his gaze to Jedediah’s mouth. He blinks. Slowly.

“There we go…” Jedediah murmurs, stepping closer, calmly, as though Octavius is a skittish wolf, wounded and in need of care.

Octavius swallows hard, intensely focused on their nearness. All fight leaves him. He continues watching Jedediah as he pries Octavius’s fingers from the injured appendage.

He hisses out of sheer expectation rather than pain when the pads of Jedediah's fingers lightly brush his skin.

Jerking in sympathy, Jedediah sucks in a breath at the wound, and Octavius glances down, horrified. He’s afraid to look, but musters his courage.

His skin is reddened, inflamed, and blistering slightly where it’s been burned, but his flesh remains intact.

Realizing how his reaction must have come across, Jedediah jerks his gaze up.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s fine. It’s just. I imagine it’s gotta hurt pretty bad, is all, and I was tryin’ ta’ be gentle.”

Octavius marvels. Staring down, he remains quiet.

Jedediah cranes his neck at Octavius’s lengthy silence. “‘Tavius?”

Octavius flexes his arm, working his fingers. His gaze slides up to Jedediah.

“We’re real,” he whispers, overcome.

Tilting his head, Jedediah squints. He is still holding Octavius’s arm. “Pardon?”

Octavius’s gaze flicks to his burned skin, and then back up.

 _“We’re real._ I didn’t melt.”

Jedediah’s eyes flicker, and then his head snaps down sharply. He tilts Octavius’s arm closer, inspecting the burn more intently.

The skin is perfectly intact.

“Darling…”

“We’re alive!” Jedediah shouts, voice wobbly. “We’re real!”

“Yes!”

Jedediah lets go of Octavius's arm at the same time Octavius launches himself at Jedediah.

Octavius seizes Jedediah by the shoulders, embracing him and spinning him in a circle.

They cheer, laughing and bouncing in place.

Octavius thinks he could remain like this forever. Until Jedediah’s back stiffens at the extended contact. And then the pain returns as quickly as it vanished. Octavius’s arms tighten. He winces, hissing in a sharp breath. “Oh, Jupiter! Jedediah, please.”

Jedediah manages to gently disentangle himself, instead of jerking and wiggling free. He pushes Octavius back a few paces, and then he lifts his finger as though to scold, but he’s still too ecstatic.

“We’re —”

“Alive!” Octavius finishes, throwing his arms up in the air in celebration. He instantly regrets it, clutching his burned arm. “Oooh!”

Jedediah winces in sympathy. His lips thin.

“I’m commissioning longer bracers,” Octavius finally hisses out, breathing fast. “Immediately.” He rocks himself back and forth. “If not sooner.” He tucks his chin against his breastplate, wobbling, and holds his arm close to his chest. “Ow.”

Jedediah shakes his head, fists resting on his waist. He palms Octavius’s elbow, leading him away from the fire before Octavius can trip over and fall backward into it.

“Ow!”

“Come on, ya big baby.” Jedediah glances over his shoulder, and pulls Octavius along by the elbow. “Let’s get ya doctored up, before you get it into your head to have me feed ya grapes because you’re too wounded ta’ do it yourself.”

Octavius can’t help the huge lopsided grin splitting his face. He glances again at the hand touching his arm, stars in his eyes.

“Would you? I’d like that, actually,” he says. “As long as your gloves remain off.”

“Ain’t happenin’, kemosabe.”

Jedediah bends down to swipe his gloves from off the floor, and Octavius is gifted with the sight of the century. Or, perhaps, several centuries. A millennium.

Those leather breeches really do have magical properties. They hug Jedediah’s rump in all the right places. Octavius tilts his head, admiring the view. He sighs in appreciation. “I really have been burned rather badly, darling. I may need those grapes after all. And palm fronds fanned about my person.”

“So do I!” Jedediah throws over his shoulder. “My hind end is singed from all your dang staring. Cool it, why doncha!”

Octavius glances down at his arm. “But I have a boo-boo, dearest. I’m insensate.”

“You’re just tryin’ ta’ distract me from my rightful righteous indignation by playin’ on my sympathies,” Jedediah gripes goodnaturedly.

Octavius lifts his eyebrows hopefully. “Is it working?”

“No!”

“Blast!”

Only. It is.

There’s an odd light shining from behind Jedediah’s eyes and a secret smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Octavius’s fingers twitch. He dares to hold the stare.

As Jedediah drags him along, Octavius clutches the underside of Jedediah’s forearm. They aren’t precisely holding hands, but it is certainly close. It’s a beginning.

Octavius’s mouth quirks. He sneaks another quick peek at the leather-covered backside and lifts his head grandly.

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah puts the makeshift medical kit away, bundling it up inside a brown leather satchel.

They are seated on a blanket alone in the Old West diorama, inside Jedediah’s tent.

Newly fitted with a wrapping for his burn, Octavius stretches out his arm and flexes his fingers. It is not the most professional dressing he’s ever had applied, but it is well-padded and put together competently. For an amateur.

“Thank you,” Octavius says, and takes a moment to peer around the sparse canvas sleeping quarters. It is worse than sparse; it is barren. Even though it is contrary to what Jedediah must think of him, Octavius is accustomed to living in moderation. He has always been thus, needing little in the way of material possessions. His home in Rome was extremely modest in comparison to his senators. However, this level of emptiness causes his mouth to twist in displeasure.

With the exception of the blanket and leather satchel, there are no possessions. No knickknacks, or decorations of any kind. There isn’t even a sleeping mat. Not a single cushion. Nothing of comfort or personality within the small living space.

As Octavius compiles a list of essentials in his head, Jedediah shrugs off the gratitude as though it is a minor inconvenience. If he takes notice of Octavius’s expression, he makes no mention of it.

He rubs his palms on his crossed legs.  

“Spent a lot of time with this frontier doctor. Learnin'. It’s where I picked up Latin.”

Octavius stops redecorating the tent in his mind. Heart pricking with jealousy, his eyes narrow.

Suddenly, he’s intensely focused. He tilts his head. “Oh?”

Oblivious, Jedediah nods. “One of his boys married my older sister, Eunice.”

“Eunice,” Octavius repeats, committing her name to memory.

Crossing an arm over his chest, Jedediah points in one direction. “Eunice.” He points in the opposite direction with his index finger on his other hand, criss-crossing his arms. “And then his daughter up and married my big brother, Ralph.”

“Ralph…” Octavius echoes.

Jedediah nods. “So we’re all kinda related by marriage a coupla times over.”

Octavius’s eyes cross, attempting to digest this new piece of information.

Jedediah rolls his wrist. “In a roundabout way.” At Octavius’s confused stare, he attempts to simplify. “My brother and my sister married his daughter and his son, respectively.” He shrugs. “Pickin’s were slim.”

Octavius nods. Expression deadpan, he says, “Obviously.”

Jedediah waves away the snarky comment. “Anyway, I think he kinda hoped I’d buckle down, study hard, and become a doctor. Like him. But I never had the calling. I wanted to be an explorer. He was supportive, though.”

Octavius tilts his head. “What was the name of this physician?”

Jedediah’s eyes flicker. “Titus Gordon Simon.”

Octavius falters. His eyebrows raise. “Titus.”

Jedediah’s lips twitch up on one corner of this mouth. “Can’t beat the classics, I reckon. I mean, even the name _Jedediah_ is really, really old. It dates back to antiquity.”

Octavius arches a brow again. “As do I.”

Jedediah blinks, and then he laughs.

He rubs at the back of his neck, seemingly unable to figure out what to do with his hands. Shrugging, he continues. “Anyway, mostly, our names tended ta’ come from the Bible. Not all of ‘em, mind. And some were just —” he falters. “Well. Plain old.”

Octavius arches an eyebrow once more, humor and mischief in his gaze. His voice rumbles, low and throaty. He leans forward. “Really, now?”

Jedediah’s posture stiffens, his gaze darting to the tent flap.

The action and sudden tension causes Octavius to falter. He blinks, spine tingling with unease.

“You’re nervous.”

Brow furrowed, Jedediah rapidly replies, “I ain’t nervous!”

“You’re jumpy, then.”

“I ain’t jumpy!” Jedediah’s back straightens, and he lets out an explosive sigh.

Octavius’s mouth thins. He glances away. He hasn’t done anything to warrant this sudden shift in mood.

Frantically, he attempts to decipher the elephant in the room.

And then the startling realization hits him. He's sitting in Jedediah's own private sanctuary. Such close quarters and intimate proximity implies invitation. Whether it has been given or not. And Octavius was flirting with him, which has fast become his custom.

Octavius looks back, spreading his hands wide in self defense. “Jedediah, it's only me. I was merely teasing you.”

Jedediah searches his face, gaze shadowed. He remains silent. Swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

Octavius feels heat climb up his neck and spread over his face under the intense scrutiny.

They sit in silence for a long moment.

Eventually, he clears his throat and redirects the conversation. “You were speaking of ancient names,” he prompts, attentive. “Was there anyone in your time by the name of _Octavius_?”

Jedediah pauses to think it over. He loses his defensive posture. “None I can recall, no.”

Octavius deflates. He perks up. “ _Octavian_?”

Jedediah shakes his head.

Octavius raises his eyebrows hopefully. “ _Augustus_?”

Slowly, after a beat, Jedediah nods. “There were some Augustus’s, yeah.”

Pride fills Octavius; he preens. Sitting up a little straighter, he is intensely aware he looks absolutely ridiculous with the absurd smile he has plastered all over his face. And he doesn’t care. He lifts his head grandly, triumph in his eyes.

“Goofball,” Jedediah smiles at his antics, ducking his head slightly. His gaze sparks back to life, eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. “There weren’t any Ockie’s, though.”

Octavius rolls his eyes. “There wouldn’t be, now would there? You made it up.”

Jedediah huffs out a laugh. He toys with a loose thread on the edge of his blanket. Smiling, he hums, sounding more at ease. And, consequently, more like himself. He brings his head up. “I actually share _my_ name with my daddy. Jedediah Smith. The name: Strong, comes from my momma. Sally Strong.”

Octavius nods. “This was also customary in my time. For people to keep names of great import within the family line. For instance, my sister’s name is Octavia.”

Jedediah raises his eyebrows. He bends forward, placing both his hands on his knees. “No! You’re foolin’ me!”

Huffing, Octavius laughs at Jedediah’s comical wide-eyed stare, a pleasant thrill shivering up his spine. He shakes his head. “I am not. We were both named after our father.”

Jedediah thinks this over. “And your daughter’s name is Julia. For Julius Caesar?”

Octavius nods. He watches as Jedediah digests this new information.

Jedediah’s entire being seems to shift, brightening at this volunteered insight into Octavius’s past. Information that has been freely given. Eyes sparkling, his face splits into a wide grin. He draws his knees up to his chest and rests his arms over them, settling in.

“It is an illustrious name for an illustrious family,” Octavius explains. “Julia was also the name of my maternal grandmother. There were many Julias in my family. It can get…” He pauses, considers, and then lifts one shoulder. “Well. It can get quite confusing. Muddled, really. I am uncertain if even I can properly break it down enough for you without losing you somewhere within my family tree.”

Jedediah cocks his head. “Did anyone ever call ya: _Octy?”_

Octavius shakes his head. His brown eyes soften. “Only you, my love. Only you.”

Jedediah beams, and then falters. He goes back to toying with the loose thread.

Octavius comes to another not-so startling realization. All these love names he’s mocked and tormented Jedediah with over the decades have grown entirely sincere over the course of time and have taken on a life of their own.

His eyes dip down, and he blushes, concentrating his attention solely on Jedediah’s fingers, giving them both time to bounce back. After a beat, his gaze flicks back up.

Jedediah’s lips are parted, still hesitating. His eyes are very far away.

Octavius slides his gaze back down and focuses once more on Jedediah's fingers.

After a few moments, Jedediah whispers, “My family. They used ta’ call me: ‘Diah. For short.”

Octavius brings his eyes up.

The name is said so casually.

And, yet.

Jedediah makes the pronouncement quietly, his voice so soft and gentle in a way Octavius has never heard it before. It sounds as though the name isn’t commonly used by many outside of Jedediah's immediate family.

Perhaps it isn't. Octavius hasn’t thought on this particular variation of Jedediah's name before. He’s had no reason to, only ever hearing the muted, informal, blunt-sounding _Jed_. However, _'Diah_ is quite lovely.

He leans closer, genuinely intrigued. He folds his hands in his lap. “Did you like this name?”

Nodding, Jedediah says simply, “Yeah.”

There it is again. Something behind Jedediah’s eyes lights up. And there is that softness reaching his voice as he refers to the name. Like it’s coming from an entirely different person.

Octavius considers this. There is power in names. “Do you wish me to call you by this name?”

Jedediah pauses, eyes dipping down. “If you want.” His eyes dart. “Maybe. Sometimes, I reckon. Not always. But —” He rubs at the back of his neck again. “Sometimes. I miss it.”

Soft, again. So soft. Like the gentleness that exists, although stubbornly hidden behind the crash and clang of Jedediah's harder emotions.

Octavius likes this side of Jedediah, as well as the other sides, and would like to see him again.

“‘Diah...”

Jedediah bites his lip, face turning red. His whole being shifts, changing before Octavius’s eyes. Blue eyes are a little clearer. Face a little softer. Forehead a little smoother. It’s all there, the puzzle pieces fitting into place. This man Octavius keeps catching glimpses of: innocence, sweetness, gentleness, shyness.

He’s there for a blink of an eye, and then he is gone. Jedediah steeples his hands on his knees and glances down. His throat works. Rubbing his palms together, he fidgets.  He goes back to sitting cross-legged with his knees jumping up and down, filled to the brim with excess energy.

Octavius blinks at the entire display, surprised. He tilts his head. “‘Diah.”

Eye contact.

And then a split second flash of someone else.  

A happy light appears in Jedediah’s eyes, shining with simple, honest affection. It burns too brightly to be maintained. He blinks and the light extinguishes itself.

Jedediah bends forward, leaning his elbow on his knees. He bites at his fingernails — which have remained uncovered. Shuddering, he sniffles.

Octavius scoots forward and angles around.

Tentatively, he wraps his uninjured arm around Jedediah’s shoulder and pulls him close so their thighs are touching.

He waits for the rebuff that never comes.

To his inward delight, he can feel a small shift. Slight. Barely there, but he feels Jedediah shift toward him.

Bringing his lips close to Jedediah’s ear, his intentions remain respectful and without guile.

“I will hold this name close to my heart,” he murmurs. “It shall not pass my lips except when we are in private.”

Jedediah peers at him. His expression reflects gratitude. He glances away and nods.

They sit like this for some time in silence, both staring forward, Octavius reveling in this simple quiet contact, intensely aware of this glowing undercurrent of closeness pulsing between them.

Finally, Octavius frowns, breaking the silence. He turns his gaze. “So, this physician. This, Titus...”

Jedediah swivels his head.

“It was _he_ who taught you Latin,” Octavius prods. “He spoke Latin to you. And no one else.”

Jedediah nods, glancing at his booted feet. “Yep.”

Octavius is filled with a desperate hope that there has been no other. That his earlier jealousy for this unknown interloper has been entirely unfounded. “He is the one you miss.”

Jedediah’s gaze is clear. “My family. I miss ‘em all,” he confesses. “But, yeah, he was kinda like a second dad to me. Bought me that copy of Lewis and Clark’s journal. Just because. Because he knew it’d make me happy. I really miss ‘em. I miss him a lot.”

Octavius clamps his eyes shut, and then glances heavenward, lips parted. Another thing they both have in common. Two fathers.

Sagging against the flimsy canvas wall, he allows his arm to fall from Jedediah’s shoulder, and sighs out a breath of relief. “Oh, thank the gods for that!”

The tent bulges from his weight, threatening to rip the canvas in two as it strains to remain upright.

Squinting, Jedediah cocks his head at him questioningly. He blinks down at the Octavius-sized threat to his sleeping quarters.

Octavius splays out. He may be showing a bit of thigh. And most of his undergarments.

Jedediah lifts an eyebrow. “You okay there, hoss?”

Octavius grins brightly. He pops his head up. “Never better!”

There is no competition, past or present, for Jedediah’s heart as he once perceived! It is cause for celebration.

Popping up, he raises his arms in triumph, kicking his legs. He emits a high-pitched screeching noise. It is not regal. Not in the slightest. He sounds precisely like Julia whilst experiencing her first crush.

And he cares not.

Jedediah watches him oddly over this unusual display of enthusiasm. He tilts his head from side to side like a confused puppy. And then he huffs, lips turning up in a smile.

There is a creaking noise, and their eyes lift to see the top of the tent pole bend dangerously, beginning to tilt and sway, threatening to snap before it can find its center.

And then, abruptly, the canvas rips, and Octavius pulls Jedediah to him in an embrace, curling around his back as the canvas and spikes _crash_ and _clang_ and _bang_ down around them.

Beside him, inside the confines of the collapsed tent, canvas rises as Jedediah lifts his head.

“Ockie? Get offa me.”

At least Jedediah sounds calm. Long-suffering, but calm.

Octavius vibrates with laughter. He kisses the head-shaped lump, then tucks his chin and embraces Jedediah tighter.

* * *

_Later…_

Sounds of cheering and applause force them to crawl out of the tent on their hands and knees.

After freeing themselves from the maze of folds and canvas, they hurry down the dirt hill and to the edge of the Old West, peering over the side of the marble ledge.

It would appear that the Americans have lowered tables and chairs down to the floor, and Titus and Silas are engaged in a spirited arm wrestling contest.

The Americans cheer wildly; the Romans roar with an equally fierce exuberance.

It is a stalemate with the friendly rivals’ arms jerking from the strain, attempting to gain the upper hand.

The crowd continues cheering raucously.

Titus and Silas lift their heads, faces red. Chests heaving, their jaws are tight. The veins in their necks bulge. They both shout incoherently.

One of the women from Silas’s harem loses patience, wedging herself between the pair and grabs both of the competitors’ hands. She bends Titus’s fist back, helping to apply leverage toward the American side. And then, Lucius dives onto the table and grabs the combined hands and bends the favor in the Roman direction.

The friendly rivals throw themselves into the game with greater and greater enthusiasm.

Before long, there is a pile of shouting, writhing bodies and kicking legs on top of each other, each side attempting to aid their fellow player.

The table legs buckle and the crowd collapses to the floor with a crash.

Onlookers point, laugh, and howl. The crowd’s limbs are still kicking.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Jedediah whispers, falling to his knees. He crumples, flopping over, his arm over his eyes. His hand curls into a fist. “It’s a dad-gum Roman orgy!”

Octavius quirks his lips at Jedediah, lowering himself into a sitting position. “They’re fully clothed, dearest.”

“Don’t matter. Parts are parts…”

Huffing and shaking his head, Octavius focuses his attention toward the games with fascinated detachment.

From somewhere down at the bottom of the pile, a strained, muffled voice shouts, “Rematch!”

* * *

_A few moments later…_

After the pair are dug out from the mass of squirming bodies, and are situated with another table, they wind their arms in circles to work out the kinks. Then they narrow their eyes at one another and sit back down.

They clasp hands.

“On the count of three,” Silas says.

Titus blinks. He works his square jaw. “On three —  or one, two, three, and then begin?”

Silas’s brow furrows. Through his bandages, his upper lip curls. “Huh?”

Titus shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Never mind. We’ll go on three.”

Brow knitting tighter, Silas argues with a pronounced whine, “That’s what I already said, man!” He jerks his cowboy hat from the top of his head. “Clean out your ears, ya dang fool!”

Titus rolls his eyes. “I said: never mind!”

Silas drops his hat down on the table. Grumbling, he shoves the Stetson back on his head. They both shake their heads at one another, and then nod, ready to begin pulling, each in the opposite direction.

Silas counts. “One, two...two and a half...three —”

They begin, straining, faces turning blood red. It is followed by a burst of shouting and cheers from the onlookers.  

Just as it appears Titus is going to overpower Silas and win the game, Silas, utilizing his other hand, points behind Titus. “— look, boobies!”

Eyes wide, Titus whips his head, peering behind him, and Silas gets the upper hand. He slams the back of Titus’s hand down on the table.

“Ha! Made ya look, ya big boob!” Silas crows above the raucous laughter and exclamations from the Americans.

Titus stares down at his hand, mouth agape. His lips twist, voice booming. “I have been cheated from victory! Honor must be satisfied. I demand a rematch!”

“Whoooo-wee!” Silas jumps up and down, toppling his chair in the process. Taking a gulp from a congratulatory glass of ‘shine, he slams the empty glass down. “Forget it! I won! That’s it. I'm outta here!”

His fists pump up and down above his head: The victor.

Jedediah turns his head, glancing at Octavius. He lifts his arm from his face, looking embarrassed. His lips thin. “He’s a work in progress.”

* * *

_A few moments later…_

“I’ll play ya!” The words are shouted from the back of the American side. “Charley, hold my ‘shine!”

The crowd parts for Calamity Jane to come sauntering toward the table. One-eyed Charley stands beside her, glaring down at Titus with his one good eye. He remains silent, hands curled around a glass filled to the brim with clear liquid.

Titus takes Charley’s measure. Charley simply cocks his head indifferently to the side. Titus, then, turns his attention to his new challenger, who is wiping her mouth on her jacket sleeve.

He scoffs at Jane, eyeing her up and down, giving her a slow once-over. His gaze stops at her breasts. He jumps. Lifting his arm, he stands and proclaims, “I cannot best a woman! It would be improper! Poor sportsmanship.”

Calamity Jane turns the chair right side up, and then straddles her seat. She tilts her chair back, and then lifts her trousered legs, crossing her ankles over the table.

“Plant your ass down, slim.”

Cat calls come from the Americans. “ _Wooo’s_ ” come from the Roman side.

With a scowl, Titus sits down. He stares grudgingly at her breasts.

She drops her legs to the floor, and scoots the chair up to the table. Using her index and middle fingers, Jane points at both of her eyes. “My eyes are up here.”

Titus draws his gaze up. They measure each other from across the table.

Jane cocks an eyebrow. She purses her lips. There is good-humored mockery shining from her gaze. She puts her elbow on the table, and fans out her fingers with flourish, cracking each knuckle as she goes. She stares Titus straight in the eyes. “On the count of three,” she says.

Titus nods once, jaw set. He clasps her hand.

Jane counts down. “One, two, three —”

* * *

_Seconds later..._

The combatants vie for leverage. Each gain the upper hand, and then immediately lose their advantage to their opponent. Back and forth it goes; back and forth.  

Jane’s nose wrinkles in concentration.

And, then _bam!_ The back of Titus’s hand slams down on the table.

Titus looks up at Jane, shock written all over his face. Respect — and something else. His eyes gleam.

Jane falters. She stops smiling, peering between Titus and their clasped hands.

The Romans and Americans swivel their heads back and forth between the pair as they continue watching each other silently from across the table.

At last, Jane’s gaze flickers and she purses her mouth again. She pushes her chair back from the table and lifts her head, raising her voice to be heard. “And that boys, is how it’s done.”

She turns and takes her ‘shine back from Charley, only pausing long enough to throw back a gulp. She raises her glass and the Americans cheer.

Titus stands. Confused, he watches the retreating Jane. He flaps his hand, shaking away the sting of defeat as another Roman and American pair enthusiastically slide into the empty seats.

* * *

_Later..._

After so many sunrises, Octavius recognizes a deep pull spreading through his veins and the abrupt tightening of his chest that signals the coming of the dawn.

He calls a halt to the celebration before they can be frozen in place.

Between he and Jedediah, they quickly direct and assign clean up duties. The Americans lasso tables and chairs, and haul them to the top of the Old West exhibit. Harnesses are lowered down for the horses while Octavius douses the dying embers of their bonfire.

Against all logic, he is still protective of his people melting or catching their paludamentums on fire, so he tends to it himself.

Before the hellbeast can be strapped into her harness, Octavius pauses in his work long enough to pat and comb through her mane. He tells her he loves her, and instructs her, once again, to be good.

Sweet Pea's eyes prick. Flicking her tail, but she leans forward and nuzzles her head against his shoulder like a cat, and then she is lifted up.

Octavius watches her go, and then turns toward Jedediah.

Jedediah stands alone, directing the various members of the Old West back into their diorama.

Octavius holds a hand to his armor-plated chest, says a quick prayer for courage, and strides over toward him.

As the last visible cowboy climbs up the wall and back into their home, Octavius pulls Jedediah by the elbow into the diorama’s shadow before Jedediah can protest.

“Oct, what —”

With no gloves to cover Jedediah’s palms, Octavius stares at Jedediah’s exposed hand, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Jedediah stops protesting, and blinks down.

In his haste to beat the coming of the dawn, Octavius’s hand suddenly clamps onto Jedediah’s wrist, pulling him closer.

Jedediah stumbles forward with stiffened shoulders. He swallows hard.  

“Oct…” he warns.

Octavius frowns and corrects himself. He _must_ do this right; he must _make_ this right.

His fingers slowly uncurl themselves from around Jedediah’s wrist. In silent apology, and a promise of gentleness, Octavius’s fingertips brush the soft skin of Jedediah’s palm.

Stunned, Jedediah’s lips part.

It is not a true holding of hands. Not like Felix and Bill, who are, consequently, still unaccounted for, but Octavius lifts Jedediah’s palm in a feather-light grip. Three fingers, really.

Octavius bends forward. He turns the hand over and presses his lips tenderly to Jedediah’s knuckles. Behind his eyes he relives their first and only kiss, and curses it.

He lifts his gaze to stare up through his lashes.

Jedediah is not drowning this time. He is breathing. Even if his quiet breaths are coming fast, shallow, and shaky.

He is breathing, and staring wordlessly at Octavius. His alluring blue eyes darken, pupils dilating. He does not jerk his hand free.

Octavius lets out a breath. There. Hope blooms from within. He brushes Jedediah’s knuckles against his cheek. It feels like benediction.

At last. He speaks, warm and low. “I realize we did not get off to the most ideal of beginnings, but you should know I think rather highly of you. I am devoted to earning your affections. And, eventually, fates willing, your heart.”

Raising his head, he looks squarely into Jedediah’s eyes.

They are shining. Vulnerable.

Unabashedly love struck, Octavius finally lets go of Jedediah’s hand gently, and pushes away.

Jedediah drops his hand slowly to his side, staring at him. He doesn’t answer, completely silent. Uncertain. He drops his gaze to study the back of his hand as though he’s grown an entirely new appendage.

Octavius smiles. His expression turns wistful. “I wish I could stay longer, but I must search for one of my wayward soldiers.” He doesn’t mention how he expects to find that soldier. Which is nude, and in an exceedingly compromising position.

Jedediah nods once. He blushes to the roots of his hair. “Okay…”

Inclining his head respectfully, Octavius straightens his shoulders and turns. Paludamentum lifting and swirling around him, he begins marching in the direction he’d last seen Felix.

He halts midstep. With one final glance back, Octavius says over his shoulder, “I look forward to seeing you again and for us to learn more about one another.”

Startled, Jedediah blinks up, eyes having gone back to staring at his splayed hand. His mouth hasn’t quite closed yet. He blushes again; redder this time.

Running a hand through the back of his hair, he blows out a breath. “Dad-gum...”

Octavius’s mouth quirks, inclining his head. “Eloquently spoken, as ever, sweetheart.”

He peers at Jedediah intently, committing Jedediah's gobsmacked expression to memory. Unhurriedly, he bows respectfully, and then turns and walks away.

* * *

_Several nights later..._

Octavius and his soldiers stand in formation on the floor, peering expectantly up at the Old West.

The Americans, from every walk of life, stare down. They have lined up across the marble ledge, eyes trained on the amassed Roman army.

Octavius lifts his head grandly.

“Light of my life!” he summons, voice booming.

The American crowd parts to allow a sauntering Jedediah to take his place in front of his people. He peers down, sweeping his gaze across the Roman ranks. Slowly, he rests his gloved hands on his waist.

He grips his belt, hip cocked to reveal the scabbarded _pugio_ clearly visible. Strapped to his outer thigh, it catches the light, newness gleaming.

Bemused, Jedediah angles his head, lifting his eyebrows. He calls back, “Honey Bunch?”

Octavius’s mouth quirks up at the humorous twinkle sparkling from Jedediah’s eyes.

Silas whips his hat off his head, aggrieved and more than a little put out. He turns to Jedediah, appearing offended down to the very soles of his boots.

“What didja go and do? Hmm? Run off and get hitched without me? Ah, man! D’ya know how many womens go to these here hitchin’ shindigs? D’ya know how many of ‘em are itchin’ for a little hogtyin’ and brandin’?” He laments his golden opportunity to add to his harem.

Without breaking eye contact with Octavius, Jedediah lifts one gloved finger.

“What did I say?” he questions Silas.

Silas lowers his hat, slumping his shoulders. He peers down at his boots, shifting his weight from side to side. And then he bounces up and down, stomping his feet. “Aw, shucks, Jed!”

“What did I say?” Jedediah repeats.

“Doe'cha go makin’ me say it, or the littlest cowpoke is gonna shrivel up and die!”

“Silas,” Jedediah says with an air of quiet authority.

Silas kicks up dust. Hands on his hips, he slaps his thigh and exhales explosively. He bounces up and down, flapping his hands uselessly.

Temper abated, he settles down and contritely mumbles, “Ya said that I hafta learn ta’ respect the ladyfolk, or you were gonna thump me upside the knot.”

“So?” Jedediah prods, patiently.

Silas clasps his hands behind his back, twisting his upper body back and forth in place. He looks to the opposite side of the diorama. “I best be respectin’ the ladyfolk.”

The Old West madam cracks her whip, pursing cherry red lips. “Mmmhmmm.”

Several of said ladyfolk nod. With a flick of their wrists, they each produce lace fans. They flutter them in front of their amused faces. The harem looks crestfallen; they slump their shoulders, pouting.

Jedediah continues staring down at Octavius, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He rolls his palms with the flare of a magician who has just performed the impossible. The corners of his mouth lift.

Octavius grins up, face splitting into a wide, goofy grin. He bounces on the balls of his feet. Taking his cue from Jedediah, he bows deeply with dramatic flourish, the emotions he feels shining through his eyes.

There is nothing remotely casual about their gazes.

They are fiercely focused, almost mesmerized, only having eyes for each other.

Octavius raises his index finger and points up at Jedediah. The gesture is returned.

The wooing has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Jedediah's family calls him is historically accurate, as is the history surrounding the frontier doctor he mentions. Octavius's home in Rome being modest is also historically accurate. 
> 
> I wish to thank my beta, CuriousDinosaur for this bit of research. The wealth of extra information she found is staggering. CuriousDinosaur, you are phenomenal, and I'm so glad we've gotten to be friends, and that we can chat about Octavius and Jedediah to our hearts content. ♥


	19. Going Courtin', Part Two

_Many nights later…_

Octavius orders the return of all resources stolen from the Old West diorama over the decades.

The depletion had been a strategic maneuver meant to weaken the Americans and cause the eventual collapse of the Old West. However, that was before the Romans and the Americans unified.

He decrees the Americans will suffer depletion no longer.

It is supposed to be a quiet affair, the items each being returned a little at a time so their restoration will go as unnoticed as they had disappeared.

Not every night is dedicated to wooing or being in the company of his American counterparts, and over the course of many nights, while the various members of the Old West are all busy working on completing their railroad, the Romans sneak into camp with the pilfered supplies.

The task proves easy enough. Especially with the horrendous power ballads the various members of the Old West are always belting out at full volume.

Octavius is convinced it is difficult to hear _anything_ above that racket. And when the songs abruptly stop, the Romans disappear.

On this last excursion, Octavius signals his soldiers to begin their silent retreat as he returns the last of the supplies himself.

Freed of the pilfered items at last, he feels no small measure of pride over his actions.

He uprights an overturned barrel one of his soldiers bumped in their haste to be away, and is a mere yards from departing unseen when he feels eyes upon his back.

His heart seizes, and he swivels his head.

He catches Jedediah stepping quietly from the shadows of an overhang of an open-air, wooden porch, the heels of his boots clacking slowly against the slatted floor.

Jedediah’s manner is one of tempered curiosity. Hands gripping his belt, he stands now, unmoving. He tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed.  

The roof of the porch causes most of Jedediah’s face to fall into shadow, but even in the dim light Octavius believes he sees the precise moment when comprehension dawns. There is wistfulness in Jedediah’s expression and starlight in his gaze.

The way Jedediah looks at him, without blinking, sends Octavius’s heart to fluttering.

Octavius’s own manner remains composed. He keeps his reactions to being caught tightly in check, even though gooseflesh pebbles his skin.

And then, with his gaze at his most inscrutable, he inclines his head respectfully, and departs without a word.

* * *

_Several nights later…_

Octavius stands in the Old West, surveying the empty spot where Jedediah’s tent met its demise at Octavius’s hand.

Even though he has never apologized for destroying the sleeping quarters, the matter has weighed upon him and he thinks of it often.

Looking this way and that, he realizes the canvas tent has been torn down and never replaced.

“Hmm.”

* * *

 

_Several nights later…_

Octavius hammers in the last stake, connecting Jedediah’s new tent with the dry, cracked earth.

It is glorious. Much grander and finer than any other tent in the Old West.

Roman red and decorative, it towers above the rest of the ragtag sleeping accommodations.

Inside its walls is every consideration of comfort Octavius can think of, even down to wonderfully soft cushions and a finely constructed Roman bed.

The bed’s framework is made out of bronze and its mattress is stuffed with soft, downy feathers. This, he did have assistance carrying in.

It is large enough for two, for reasons, obviously.

While he remains ever respectful, it can never be said Octavius isn’t optimistic that one night Jedediah will be so overcome with passion and desire for him, that he crooks his finger wantonly and invites him in. Or, jumps him. Octavius would be perfectly content with either of these scenarios.

Highly unlikely, but there it is. A man can dream.

He smiles to himself, suppressing his laughter. Perhaps he is turning into Miss Polly Sunshine, after all.

Nevertheless, regardless of Octavius’s own wayward thoughts and idle fantasies, the quarters is constructed with only one purpose in mind. And that is simply to put a smile on Jedediah’s face; make him happy.

He stands back, surveying his handiwork. Removing his helmet, he wipes the sweat from his brow.

It is a fine tent. Fit for an emperor.

He dusts himself off, and departs.

* * *

_Several nights later…_

The Roman tent has been dismantled, no replacement in sight.  

Octavius whirls around, taking in his barren surroundings. He has no idea where the bed has disappeared off to. Or, the cushions.  Or, the other finery housed within.

That is until he sees pieces of his handiwork being sewn into smaller cushions to accommodate American heads.

Typical.

He sighs a great big giant sigh, and stands with his hands fisted at his waist.

Spying the top of a simply braided, black Stetson, and the familiar mop of tousled, blond hair, Octavius marches forth.

Jedediah sits crossed-legged on the ground with quiet dignity, the pugio strapped to his outer thigh clearly visible. He appears to be folding the remains of the Roman tent into two enormous triangles.

Octavius strides over.

“Those cushions were meant for you,” he says without preamble.

Jedediah shrugs, not looking up.

“They were too soft. Couldn’t get comfortable. Kept sinking down and disappearing into the mattress. Felt like dang quicksand. Ain’t used to sleeping on anything but the ground.”

“That doesn’t explain the cushions.”

Shrugging, Jedediah says, “When the others saw I wasn’t using ‘em, they asked and I handed ‘em over.”

Octavius purses his lips. “And the bed?”

Still not looking up from his task, Jedediah points to a far off building with a flickering blood-red lantern in the window. The sign above it reads: _Red_ _Light_ _House_ _Saloon_.

“Brothel.”

Unbelieving, Octavius lifts his eyebrows. “The brothel.”

Jedediah hums. “According to one of the books in the library, the term: _red light district_ , was first coined in Dodge City, Kansas. Or, at least that’s where the term caught on. It is believed early railroad workers took red lanterns with ‘em when they visited the cat houses so other workers could find ‘em in the event of an emergency.”

“You gave our bed to the brothel,” Octavius states unbelievingly. It isn’t a question.

“Technically, it’s my bed. And folk should be comfortable when they’re bumpin’ uglies.”

“Precisely, Jedediah!” Octavius chastises, arms waving in the air. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “I mean, really.”

Jedediah peers up with good humor shining in and around his eyes, a half-teasing, lopsided smile on his face. He shrugs again.

“Ya could go over there and test it out for yourself if ya want. I’m sure one of the ladies of the night could oblige if ya asked real nice.”

Hands balled into fists, Octavius rests them against his armor-covered waist. He leans forward. “I want no other. Only you.”

Jedediah’s eyes flick up briefly. He smiles again, seemingly pleased at the pronouncement. His gaze is sweet.

He scoots over and pats the ground next to him. “Then quit your squawkin’, and keep me company.”

Octavius sits down, cross-legged.

Pouting, he watches as Jedediah fiddles with the demolished Roman tent, folding it, threading a needle with thick thread.

After a while, he offers a hand when Jedediah needs him to hold one of the folds in place.

Sweet Pea stands off to the side. She snorts, sounding profoundly perturbed.

Octavius flicks his gaze, and then does a double take. “What is in the hellbeast’s mane?”

Jedediah glances up and over. “A hair bow.”

The bow is Roman red and ornamental.

Octavius squints. “It looks like a piece off the tent.”

Jedediah nods, and lifts his chin to the pugio. “It is. I cut it off.”

Sweet Pea swishes her tail in annoyance. Her ears flick sideways.

Octavius observes the pair of them with a frown. This is not what he had in mind when he gifted the dagger.

Jedediah begins humming a tune softly, threading and folding another large chunk of Roman canvas together, fashioning the material into something that looks decidedly ominous. Like a much larger, gargantuan replica of the bow in Sweet Pea’s mane.

Octavius is afraid to ask. “Darling, what are you doing?”

Jedediah peers up with another ridiculous half-smile. “I’m making bows for our baby girls!”

Sweet Pea nickers, flicking her tail again.

Octavius arches an eyebrow.

There are nights he believes he is madly in love with a lunatic. This is one of those nights.

Jedediah’s arm sweeps across the expanse of the red, ornamental material, showing off his handiwork. “Ta-DAA!”

Now that Octavius knows what he’s looking at, he exhales a loud breath.

“It was a gift, remember?” Jedediah reminds. He shrugs. “Anyways, it was too fancy shmancy for me. And I didn’t want ta’ return it and kick up a fuss, so I thought I’d put the material to better use and treat the girls to something nice.”

Octavius’s heart turns over.

He must suck in a breath to keep up the pretense that he is unaffected by this admission, feeling such intense fondness for this man. His lips quirk up despite himself. “We only have one daughter together, love. Baby happens to be a boy.”

“Baby is whatever she chooses to be, and right now, she chooses to be a girl.”

“He told you that, did he?” Octavius scoffs.

Jedediah flicks his gaze to Octavius, but doesn’t comment. He goes back to humming, threading the canvas material together.

“And our little Tyrannosaurus rex has no hair to put in a bow.”

“She’s got a skull,” Jedediah points out. His brows knit together and he waves his hand. “It’s fine.” When Octavius opens his mouth to question how Jedediah intends to secure the bow in place, Jedediah stubbornly interrupts with, “Never you mind. I’ll make it work.”

They fall into comfortable silence.

Octavius angles his head, watching in fascination.

Leaning over Jedediah’s shoulder, expression openly curious, he keeps his knees modestly covered in deference to his company.

“I was unaware men sewed in your culture.”

“All explorers know how ta’ sew. Necessity. Wild animal attacks, thorns, brambles, sleeves getting caught in the brush. Packin’ light, you don't take all that many clothes with ya. So we learn to sew real quick. Otherwise we’d all be traipsin’ round the mountains buck naked.”

Octavius’s mouth quirks up again. He doesn’t see a problem with such a scenario, but wisely chooses to keep his comments to himself. He’s learning, after all. Slowly.

He marvels at Jedediah.

Inwardly, he shakes his head. Never has he met such a man in all his life, and is unlikely to again.

Overcome with a wave of affection, he leans forward and plants a soft kiss against Jedediah’s clothed shoulder.

Jedediah, of course, jerks back and winds his bent arm in a circle.

There is no real heat in the gesture. It’s mostly a mindless, knee-jerk reaction to being touched. There is no anger or panic in it.

Octavius still rocks to the side, elbowed back where he should be with a distance of appropriate personal space between them. To some extent, Octavius’s overly affectionate nature is being accepted. If it’s a good night, that is. Which, apparently, it is.

Octavius keeps having to remind himself that slow and steady is the way to Jedediah’s heart, but often times, like now, his feelings overwhelm him and he expresses himself physically.

“I wish I had me a bit of tan buckskin,” Jedediah comments after a few moments of companionable silence. The words are spoken calmly, the rebuff from a moment ago already forgotten. He angles his head, squinting as he works the threads through the bow. “I’d sew up something proper. Get me out of this fancy getup and into some real clothes.”

Octavius looks upon Jedediah’s face, his downcast eyelashes as he concentrates on sewing. His eyes take in the tousled blond mop. He directs his gaze down to the red neckerchief, blue shirt, vest, leather breeches, and boots.

Squinting, his eyes do a double take. They travel back up to the leather breeches.

There are blue trousers with thin vertical white stripes and embedded pewter buttons setting high on Jedediah’s slender waist. They ride above the leather breeches, but are mostly concealed under the material  —  Jedediah’s sewing at work.

Again, Octavius marvels. They should be working toward getting Jedediah _out_ of his clothes — not adding to them.

He gives Jedediah another once over and realizes Jedediah appears slightly bulkier from the waist up.

By the gods!

 _More_ _clothes!_

It is completely and utterly adorable. Bless the man, and _blast him!_

Octavius wonders to himself how Jedediah can even stand more clothing in this dry, hot climate.

Jedediah can lecture about practicality until he’s blue in the face. It does not change Octavius’s opinion; he knows the truth. The man and his modesty knows no bounds!

If Jedediah isn't stopped, he'll be dressed like one of the Eskimos before long, with only his blond head and Stetson peeking out from a bulky, oversized hood.

Octavius huffs at the mental image.

He desires to kiss Jedediah’s shoulder with the utmost tenderness again, but chooses to restrain himself.

Well. What he truly desires to do is slowly pluck the needle and thread from Jedediah's fingers, wrap his hand around the back of his neck, and gently lower him to the ground. Kiss him properly, loving and unhurried, the way Jedediah should be kissed.

Octavius chooses to behave.

Regaining his composure, he says honestly, “You are perfectly presentable the way you are, my love.” He raises both of his eyebrows for emphasis. “You need not change a thing.”

He is in earnest.

Unable to keep her temper in check any longer, Sweet Pea whinnies behind them. Displeased, she stomps her hooves.

Octavius clicks his tongue and gets to his feet, pulling his pteruges modestly down over his thighs as he rises. He strides over to her and lifts his hand, moving forward to remove the bow from her mane.

The steed throws her head back, refusing the help. She still appears vexed.

Sweet Pea is not the bow-wearing kind, not frilly in the slightest. However, since Baby is getting a bow of his own, the steed refuses to be seen without hers no matter how much she may despise it.

Sibling rivalry is rampant and thriving in any age, it would seem.

Not to be outdone, Octavius pats her neck and leans forward to whisper conspiratorially in her ear. “I’ll have a paludamentum made for your back. And a finely bristled Roman helmet for your skull.”

Sweet Pea’s ears prick. She appears intrigued at this prospect.

Jedediah loudly clears his throat, not peering up from his intricate work.

With a sigh, Octavius acquiesces. “And one for Baby, as well.” He lifts his chin proudly. “There will be no favorites amongst our children. That’s how wars are begun.”

Nodding, Jedediah agrees sagely. “Equals.”

* * *

_Several nights later…_

Some nights Octavius is better at wooing than others. Jedediah will not be rushed and Octavius must find some way to pass the time.

This night he is in Rome.

Hands clasped behind his back, he paces, contemplating on an excuse for the Romans to visit the Americans again, when the ground shakes. He is lifted off his feet from the vibrations.

Mayans startle, shrieking at the top of their lungs.

They are more rebellious than even the Americans and they have been actively leaving the _Hall of Miniatures_ to hunt.

Octavius does not approve, but if it slakes the Mayans’ bloodlust and keeps them away from both the Roman and American dioramas, then he will certainly tolerate it.  

Most nights they return empty-handed, thank the gods. Other nights, they bring back their spoils. This time it's an enormous and highly poisonous scorpion which they have skewered. A dozen warriors carry their prize back in triumph on a large pole.

At the tremors in the ground, the spoils crumbles in on itself, turning to dust.

It is swept away in a gust of wind as Baby enters the hall, his eternally happy smile on full display. With a roar of greeting, he bends forward. His massive skull is half in and half out of the Roman diorama, ready for play.

Behind Octavius, Rome is enveloped in silence. Off in the distance, even the noise from the Coliseum games cease.

Octavius stands proudly, arms akimbo, feet firmly planted.

Around him, every Roman throat screams.

They trip, diving to the ground, and duck for cover as Octavius feels himself lifted up and out of the diorama by his paludamentum.

“My liege, my liege!”

Most of his men scramble up from the ground, arms outstretched, rushing to his aid.

Even as he dangles by his paludamentum, high above, swinging first to the right, then to the left, Octavius realizes that Baby is being quite gentle with him. He tilts his head, face softening, filled with a rush of affection. The beast is just like his papa.

He angles his head toward the Romans. “It is perfectly alright, men!” he calls. “Continue on with what you were doing!”

The other Romans lift their heads, startled. The rest of his diorama push themselves to their feet. They all look to each other in confusion, eyes darting in silent communication amongst one another.

Baby rumbles a greeting, and many Romans scatter, seeking shelter once again.

Tiberius faints dead away, caught in Marcus’s arms. He is lifted up as Marcus watches Octavius, fear for him in his gaze.

Octavius crosses his arms, feeling hot breath puff out through the spaces between the dinosaur’s teeth. He is unafraid.

To his son, he says, “I assume we’re going to visit your papa?”

Baby whines hopefully, and Octavius experiences free fall as he is first dipped sharply down, and then goes weightless as he flies up, lifted high into the air when his child nods.

The remaining Romans shout again in fear. “My liege!”

One Roman takes up the call, and then screams and points, “We must act decisively or we are all lost! The monster is shaking our emperor to death!”

Before the sentinels can begin throwing spears willy-nilly, Octavius lifts his palm.

“I said it is perfectly alright,” he calls down to them.

And then he lifts his arms to the brute. While his child cannot be laid at his feet, nor can the dinosaur be lifted within the expanse of his arms, he publicly accepts Baby as his own in the Roman custom.

“This is my son!”

The Romans stare with their mouths agape, eyes wide, startling even more. They each take a colossal step back to peer and marvel at the sight of the next in line chosen to lead Rome.

Satisfied he has made his pronouncement known, Octavius turns his attention to his son. “Take me to your papa.”

Unbeknownst and uncaring of his own noble lineage, Baby excitedly mewls and twists, casting a shadow over the Old West and startling the already startled Mayans even more.  

They screech and huddle together for protection, for which Octavius is entirely unapologetic. They may have a tenuous truce at present, thanks to Jedediah, but he still has a difficult time letting go of “ _That_ _Time_ _of_ _Which_ _We_ _Do_ _Not_ _Speak_.”

He believes, in this case, a little fear is good for the soul.

In the Old West, Octavius is inundated by startled shouts, cursing, and the scraping of chairs.

Like the Romans, the Americans scream, ducking for cover. Some trip, going down in a heap of bodies and tangling, squirming limbs.

Off to his left, he hears the whinnying of frightened horses as they jump over their corral. Dust flies as they cause a mini-stampede.

And then, all is quiet.

Octavius peers up at Baby.

While he is enjoying this newfound respect amongst his former enemies, he is quite tired of dangling around.

“Place me down. _Carefully,_ if you please.”

Obeying his father, Baby lowers his head down slowly.

Bending at the knees, Octavius feels his sandals touch the hardened, sun scorched earth as he is set down with infinite care into the middle of the Old West.

Baby lets go of his paludamentum, but remains close to Octavius, nose pressing into his father’s back. Shy.

His rumble vibrates through Octavius’s spine and out through his chest.

Octavius lifts his palm, wrapping his fingers against ridged muzzle, gentling the brute. If it isn’t for the whole interspecies adoption and the fact that Baby is billions of years older than even Octavius himself, he would swear this is, indeed, Jedediah’s natural child.

Building in confidence, Baby’s nose touches the ground and he snuffles around for a moment.

He cocks his massive skull and barks happily, having tracked a familiar scent.   

_Papa?_

Octavius peers around. He sees the tops of several hats and bonnets peeking from behind rocks and the cowering, trembling horses.

He rolls his eyes.

Those who have not yet found shelter, stumble around, flailing, running for their lives.

Octavius debates whether he should explore and find Jedediah, when he hears a familiar, plaintive-sounding whinny that could be nothing short of, _Oh, it’s you,_ from the hellbeast to her brother.

And then Octavius whirls, and his legs nearly turn to jelly.

He spots his beloved strolling toward town, ropes wound around one shoulder, and the hellbeast ambling a short distance away.

Sweet Pea flicks her tail, annoyed at the dinosaur’s presence, but at the sight of them, Jedediah breaks into a grin and sprints down the sloped hill, his boots kicking up dust as he approaches his son.

He drops his ropes and launches himself at the dinosaur, jumping onto Baby’s muzzle.

“How's my little country-darlin’?” he coos, his voice soft, steady, and low. He softly pets him. “Didja miss Daddy and me?”

Baby nods his head eagerly.

The motion dislodges Jedediah and he slides down, landing on his rump with a squeak.

Jedediah grins wide, lovelights shining through his gaze.

The massive dinosaur leans down and nuzzles Jedediah’s hat off the top of his head, his huge skeleton rattling with barely contained happiness.

Baby coos, somehow giving the impression that he’s peering at his two fathers with a look of absolute adoration.

If Octavius wasn’t already in love with the gigantic brute, he most certainly is now. He tilts his head, gaze softening once again.

Behind Octavius, he hears expletives from the cowboys.

“That thang’s eatin’ his damn head!” one of the cowboys shouts to the others.

Annoyed, Octavius turns around, paludamentum swirling. He arches an eyebrow.

“He is our son,” he says.

He lifts his arms to declare legal paternity once again. It is an edict.

“Daughter,” Jedediah corrects automatically, lifting his voice to be heard.

The Americans stare, whipping their heads back and forth between Octavius, Jedediah, and the living remains of the dinosaur. And then they whip their heads at each other. Every single one of them are open-mouthed and staring.

“I know I ain’t that bright and all,” one of them says, he swipes his Stetson off his head, “but that cain’t be right.”

Whether the cowboy is referring to two men sharing parentage together, or the fact that Baby is of another species, or that the dinosaur is a living skeleton is anyone’s guess.

Another dirty-faced cowboy scrunches up his face. He removes the hat from his brow and scratches his head thoughtfully. His hair, both on his head and on his face is carrot-red. “Ol’ Jed, how does that work, exactly? How do I get me one of those?” He nods at the colossal skeleton. “Does it happen when ye marry and mate one of them there Roman fellers?”

He turns his head.  

“Hey, Maximus-something-or-other!” he shouts to his counterpart, peering around the corner of his diorama, “let’s get hitched and see what happens! I need me a replacement for my lazy-assed, gap-toothed, broke-backed, no good, honkin’ steer!”

“Buffoons,” Octavius mutters to himself and returns his attention to his unconventional family.

Thinking the situation over, Jedediah frowns and lifts his arm.

He points and lifts his voice, “You best stay away from my baby girls, Silas…”

Somewhere behind a porch, there is an indignant squawk.

Octavius follows the noise, turning back to face the Americans. The mouthy American with the curly red hair is still attempting to talk one of his soldiers into an advantageous betrothal.  

Arms behind his back, Octavius says, “My love, I must speak with you.”

Something nudges Octavius’s back, and he jumps and turns around. It’s Sweet Pea. He lifts his hand, and she nuzzles his palm.

“So, what’s on your mind?” Jedediah asks.

Octavius whirls back around and takes a breath. “We must coordinate parenting time.”

Baby’s head droops.

“I don’t think she likes that,” Jedediah muses.

“What is there not to like?” Octavius inquires.

From behind him, the marriage arrangements have hit a snag.

_“Marrying in a misguided attempt to replace your aging livestock will not be borne, Malachi! I demand love. I demand respect. A dowry. Immediate consummation. And you shall take my name, and it shall be you who carries such a massive, colossal brute within your belly!”_

_“Hey!”_ Malachi calls back, irate. _“I ain’t scared of you, ya triflin’ horny toad! Bring it!”_

_“I nobly accept your challenge!”_

_“Your seed best be manly, ye hear! I need me some wee bairns! Old Nellie ain’t gettin’ any younger, and this land don’t plow itself!”_

_"Clean your face, love."_

_"Kiss me arse!"_

_“I shall. On our wedding night!”_  

Octavius tunes out the discourse and concentrates his attention solely on his family.

In fact, he shepherds them all up the hill for privacy’s sake as Baby rumbles, tilting his big skull from one side to the other.

Whatever Baby communicates, Jedediah whips his head. His eyes go wide as he ambles along. He is too stunned to do anything other than push his Stetson back on his skull.

Apparently whatever he interprets the dinosaur as rumbling affects him greatly.

Squinting, Octavius believes he understands the conversation and glances at Jedediah. He calls a halt to their trek and leans closer.

“I think he wants his two fathers to share in the parenting time together.”

Jedediah shakes his head, eyes still enormous. “That ain’t what she said, kemosabe.”

At the dinosaur’s forlorn expression, Octavius lifts his palms placatingly to his son, moving into the conversation.

“Poppet, I meant together. We shall schedule parenting time together,” he assures. “It will not be apart.”  

Baby lifts his skull, happy and…

Octavius tilts his head.

Baby appears happy and relieved. He heaves a gigantic sigh that stirs up the dust, swirling it around them in a circle.

Octavius lifts his arm to shield his eyes from the miniature dirt tornado. Lips parting, he blinks, taken aback.

Jedediah places the Stetson back on his head with one hand, and then sweeps it from his brow again. With his other hand, he cards his gloved fingers through the tousled mop.

Baby roars in celebration, but then he goes back to rumbling again.

Jedediah shakes his head, taking up the conversation.

“We ain’t livin’ together,” he says as he pads along. “We got ourselves duties that’s bigger than us.”

Baby lifts his too small arms, and continues rumbling.

“No, we ain’t married,” Jedediah explains.

It’s Octavius’s turn to snap his head around, eyes wide.

Jedediah spares him a sideways glance as they walk.

“That’s what she asked, doggone it.”

Tilting his massive skull, Baby rumbles again in a questioning manner.

Jedediah turns to face Octavius. His demeanor is calm and quiet. He grips his belt. “Because we ain’t. That’s why.”

Baby rumbles another question.

“No. We ain’t separated! We were never married.”

Octavius’s eyes continue to stay wide at the exchange. His knees wobble just a little. He squirms inside. With trepidation, he asks, grimacing, “Our child desires to be part of an intact family?”

“It ain’t that she cares about her family bein’ intact. She just wants her daddies ta’ be together.”

Octavius’s brow furrows. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

As though to confirm Jedediah’s assertions that this is truly the exchange he and Baby are having, the dinosaur lifts his massive head and wails.

The walls vibrate his sadness.

Octavius watches a wounded look come and go from Jedediah’s gaze. He looks ill.

Turning to Octavius, they exchange long glances.

And then, all at once, Octavius feels himself lifted off the ground by a gargantuan skull.

Arms flapping, he is body slammed into Jedediah with such a tremendous force that he and his beloved are both sent flying, creating a crater trail, a rolling pocket within the scorched earth as they skid to a stop.

Octavius lies on top of him, stunned mute, extremities numb. He wheezes, thinking he may pass out; he stares, vacant-eyed from the pitch.

He drops his head down, his body feeling almost too languid to respond. Closing his eyes, he swims in vertigo for a moment, thinking he’ll rest them for _only_ a moment, or at least until the bells stop ringing in his ears and the world stops spinning.

His consciousness grows dimmer, but if he focuses, he can just make out the still arguing Maximus and Malachi off in the distance, and the sharp breaths below him, a whispered, _"Get offa me,"_ and then —

“Ah, geez, Oct!” Jedediah says brokenly.

He is rolled to the side, feeling his helmet’s fastening being loosened under his chin, and then the headgear is lifted free. Feels Jedediah grip him within his arms and cradle his neck, holding him close.

He sees brightness, and then a shadow pass overhead through his closed eyelids and blinks his eyes open.

Jedediah’s blue gaze is wide with concern. He cups Octavius’s jaw. His expression is tender as he gingerly tilts Octavius’s head back, dipping his chin and peering deeply into Octavius’s eyes, searching for injury.

Octavius blinks slowly, lethargically.

And then he starts. Jerks.

His heart beats like the flutter of butterfly wings within his breast, and his focus returns.

He grins.

"Hello,” he murmurs, at last.

Jedediah loses his panic for a moment. It is replaced by a sudden smile, one of his brightest. The beaming kind that lights up his entire face. The skin around his eyes crinkles up, causing him to squint.

“Hey, you! Welcome back.” His gaze turns worried. He angles his head. “You okay?”

“I am,” Octavius murmurs. He breathes. “Merely winded.” His voice is raspy. He lifts a finger. “For the record, when he misbehaves thus, he is most assuredly _your_ child. I was not a rebellious boy.”

Jedediah tilts his head in the other direction and squints at the admission, surprised.

“I wasn’t, either.” Then he glares up at the dinosaur, upside down. “Bad girl! That ain’t nice, young lady! Tossin’ folk about when ya don’t get your way. You’re too big for that. Ya gotta be gentle with Daddy and me. Now say you’re sorry!”

Baby argues, his eyeless sockets the perfect blend of innocence and heartache over being the product of a broken home. His tiny arms spread in a small arc.

Jedediah studies him coolly through squinting eyes for a long moment.

“Apologize, or I will put you in time-out, I swear I will!”

Refusing to apologize, Baby stomps over to the Mayan side of the dioramas. The Mayans scream and cower as the dinosaur presses his nose to the wall.

He mewls forlornly.

“Doncha go playin’ on our sympathies, Little Missy. You earned your time-out. Ten minutes of it.” Jedediah drags his attention back to Octavius.

For his part, Octavius lowers his head to rest it partially on Jedediah’s arm and partially against his chest. He lies there, breathing slowly, feeling the familiar heartbeat pound rapidly against his forehead. It’s nice.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Octavius nods, and then thinks better of it. He could have almost sworn he felt the breeze of phantom fingertips flutter through his short hair. Obviously, he’s still not entirely recovered. He blinks lethargically and cranes his neck up with a hum.

“Yes. Quite.”

Baby turns from the wall and sorrowfully bellows to Octavius.

Jedediah lifts his arm and points. “You ain’t playin’ one against the other. Nose against the wall, young lady! You ain’t too big that I can’t bend ya over my knee.”

Octavius blinks owlishly at Jedediah and opens his mouth to correct his assertions.

Talking out of the side of his mouth, Jedediah whispers, “Not in front of the girls. They don’t know that I can’t. Or wouldn’t if I could. But we got to set up boundaries, or they'll walk all over us.”

Octavius wisely shuts his mouth.

Baby returns his nose to the wall, still mewling.

Sweet Pea whickers equine laughter. She prances about, bouncing on her front hooves.

Jedediah points. “Don’t goad your sister.” Shaking his head, he turns back to Octavius and speaks softly. “She didn’t know we weren’t a couple before. She didn’t mean it, Oct. She wanted ta’ push her folks together and forgot her own strength.”

“I realize that. He was only just adopted. A minor setback. There is always an adjustment period.”

Jedediah grins wide at Octavius’s easy acceptance over being tossed.

Then again, it could be a concussion.

Octavius hums and burrows against the smooth leather vest, content. He imagines he feels the phantom fingertips ruffling through his hair again and shivers.

He blinks his eyes open slowly.

Jedediah’s expression is one of apprehension. “So…” he begins, suddenly and urgently. “She’s still _our_ kid?” His voice trembles slightly. “Not just mine?”

Octavius’s expression softens. “Always.”

They both smile at each other, complimenting the other perfectly. Octavius is darkness with stars in his eyes, Jedediah being goodness and light.

Octavius’s brow crinkles. “Is Baby really a girl?”

Jedediah nods. “At least at the moment. She’s explorin’ her options.”

Huffing, Octavius’s eyebrows raise and he opens his mouth in a silent, _oh._ He can only shake his head.

“So…” Jedediah shifts against him, after a beat. “What are we supposed to do for ten minutes?”

Octavius blinks down.

And suddenly, he’s back, only now fully realizing their positions, his situational awareness crackling to life.

Heat rushes up his sandalled toes, and he gives Jedediah a once-over, gaze beginning to smolder.

“Snog.”

Jedediah stills. He blinks at him. His entire face turns blood red all the way up to his hairline, eyes blown wide. He recovers fast, back straightening.

Behind them, Sweet Pea stops prancing and whickers. Octavius turns his head.

“You’re fine, ya big faker! Dad-gum it! Get offa me!”

Octavius is abruptly dropped to the ground like a rotten sack of potatoes.

Despite the drop, a ridiculous grin spreads across his mouth. Rising up on his elbows, his eyes roam over Jedediah’s face for a long moment. He lifts his eyebrows in what should be a bland, teasing expression. Only. Somehow, it. isn’t. He grins like a loon.

“It ain’t no skin off my nose sending you over to time-out either.” Jedediah grumbles. “You, with your sneaky Roman wiles, you can just mosey on over there and keep _your_ daughter company, Mister. God! I can’t take you _anywhere.”_

Overcome by a wave of giddiness, Octavius braces his arms behind him for leverage and leans forward, chin lifted.

With feather-light tenderness, he butts the tip of Jedediah’s nose with his own. He closes his eyes with a soft sigh. It seems so natural to nuzzle them together. This simple contact rivals the intimacy of a kiss itself. He bumps them once more before pulling back and opening his eyes.

Jedediah’s eyelashes are lowered. He’d had his eyes closed. Startled, they instantly fly open.

He yelps and jerks back because that is how circumstances of his previous life have groomed him to react.

Out of the corner of his eye, Octavius sees the black Stetson lift and take aim.

It is no matter.

Despite the implied threat, he smiles up affectionately. He is not afraid of this man; he never was.

Jedediah slowly lowers his Stetson, confused by Octavius’s expression, but his face softens. He smiles with his eyes, looking down at Octavius in a rare, purely unguarded moment.

Those eyes are warm and the purest blue, bright and guileless.

For one brief flicker of time, Octavius’s own fondness is mirrored back at him through Jedediah’s gaze. There’s vulnerability there, too. Such vulnerability shines through his expression, speaking volumes.

Octavius gasps, lips parting. His heart accelerates wildly.

In that moment, between the span of one heartbeat and the next, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Jedediah loves him back. Not only does Jedediah love him, but he is _in_ _love_ with him. Even if Jedediah cannot _— yet —_ express his emotions properly, it’s there, shining for anyone with eyes to see. If they choose to look.

The reveal hadn’t been brought about through long-winded declarations of undying love or complicated courtship rituals, but simply human affection, mixed with closeness and abject silliness that revealed the truth.

Octavius marvels.

So, it is true. Jedediah has no use for Augustus Caesar, Emperor of Rome, the power he wields, or the gifts he can bestow. Yet his eyes soften for Octavius, and only Octavius. When he allows himself to simply be himself: silly and sweet and funny and kind, and — above all —  genuine.

Wary, Jedediah’s expression abruptly shifts.

He gazes beyond Octavius for a moment, and when he peers back, it is to watch Octavius doubtfully for a long moment.

His eyes harden, declaring war against the previous warmth of his smile. He shakes his head, snapping out of it. Temper rising, his expression is unamused. He glares.

Octavius leans forward, tilts his head, and gently bumps Jedediah’s nose again. “Boop!” he says.

Jedediah freezes, uncertain, hesitant.

Octavius leans forward again, and —

“Boop!”

When Octavius pulls back a second later, he sees that Jedediah had dropped his eyelids to half-mast. Panicked, his eyes snap open again.

Feeling soaring elation, Octavius shakes his head, overcome. He blurts out, “I’ll wait for you. I would wait _forever_ for you.”

The vulnerability returns to Jedediah’s gaze. He dips his chin, hair falling into his eyes. His face dims into a neutral expression. “Yeah?  Well, Baby’s done gone and rattled a screw loose.”

Octavius shakes his head, grinning. He reaches up. Slowly, so Jedediah can see the hand coming, he brushes the hair from Jedediah's forehead.  His hand comes to rest respectfully on Jedediah’s shoulder, where it stays. Quietly, he says, “No.”

Jedediah’s eyes lift.

Despite what Jedediah says, despite his loud outbursts to the contrary, they are already married in every way that matters.

“Oct...” Jedediah looks deeply embarrassed. His lips are drawn tight. “Please,” he whispers brokenly again.  He grimaces, as though in physical pain. “Find somebody else. Someone more physically-inclined. Showy. All this —” he waves his hand. "It's all wasted on me. I can’t give ya what you need.”

“You already do.”

Jedediah sighs. “You could do better.”

 _“You_ could,” Octavius says. He shakes his head. “I cannot.”

“But this —” Jedediah waves his arm. His expression is resigned. He shakes his head, fumbling for the right words. His voice is soft. “This ain’t fair ta’ you. It ain’t right. It’s too one-sided!”

“Is it?” Octavius challenges, equally as soft. “You gave me more as my enemy than I’ve ever had from anyone.”

Startled, Jedediah blinks. The confession jars him. He stares, eyes stricken.

“If you desire me to stop, I’ll stop. I’ll not force my affections upon you,” Octavius says, glancing away. The line of his mouth dips sharply down. “I will not force something between us that you are patently against.”

At seeing Octavius’s hurt expression, Jedediah blurts out, “It ain’t that, doggone it!”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m afraid I’ll wind up disappointin’ ya,” Jedediah says. “I don’t think I can —” he rolls his shoulder, insecure. He lifts his eyebrows, averting his gaze, face red. “— you know.”

Octavius soothes Jedediah’s shoulder. “Then. We won’t.”

Jedediah looks at him, thoroughly mystified. Dubious, he exhales a sharp breath. It sounds defeated. “But you want —”

“I want many things,” Octavius interrupts. “Yes, I want sexual intimacy with you. I’ll not devalue its importance, but you should wish to express yourself physically to me with equal fervor.

“If you do not, then what I want and desire means nothing. I vowed I would wait. Whatever that means and what it entails. How it manifests itself —” Octavius nods. “I will wait for you.”

Jedediah closes his eyes. After a few seconds, he opens them.

Inhaling deeply, he looks down at Octavius for a long, agonizing moment.

“Be my friend, first. My best friend.”

Octavius nods, feeling giddy once again. “Yes.”

“I want what my folks had,” Jedediah declares. It is an edict.

Octavius’s eyes, that in the past, have been shrewd and piercing, sparkle and dance within their sockets. “If it is within my power to give, then you shall have it.”

Jedediah gazes at him with stars in his eyes. The universe they’ve already created together swirls and dances with their own unique rhythm.

“Then play with me.”

Octavius is netted within Jedediah’s gaze, and he imagines himself back in Rome as a boy, nose buried in his scrolls, writing. Always writing. He wrote poetry often.

There was no one to play with, so he wrote on his scrolls and he studied more than was probably healthy. He didn’t have friends, not because he didn’t want or yearn for them, but because he had been a sickly child with a weak constitution. He was always ill.

Someone calls him by name.

Startled, Octavius lifts his gaze from the written words and he turns his attention towards the open window.

Blond hair bounces and shines in the sunlight.

It is a boy, roughly the same age as he. A blue toga is draped across the child’s thin frame. He leans over the window sill, kicking his legs up high behind him, straining, attempting to squeeze in through the small space.

The boy lifts his head and grins. _“Howdy!”_

Against his will, Octavius laughs at the spectacle.

The boy’s answering smile is blinding. He bounces down, and then hops back up, this time making it onto the window sill.

 _“Hey, Octy!”_ he shouts with exuberance. His child’s voice is high and a little squeaky. _“You can be cooped up inside any old day.”_ His eyes are playful. He jerks his chin. _“Come on outside and play with me!”_

Octavius hesitates, biting his lip.

His eyes dart around the room. This is all he knows. These walls. This room. Trapped. Confined. When he is in town, he is surrounded by adults who only want to speak of politics and expansion. For the glory of Rome.

He sees only emptiness. And loneliness.

Looking back to this strange boy, he gasps. The child is already on the move, disappearing from the sill.

Octavius bounds from his chair. He hurries to the window, peering out. Face shadowed in darkness, he lifts his hand and places it against the inner wall of the study.

Bouncing backwards, the blond haired boy winds his arms for Octavius to join him. And then he turns and runs. Running fast and running far, past the green gardens in the courtyard.

He turns around again, striding backward. _“Come on! I want ta’ go adventurin’ and I ain’t waitin’ all day!”_

Somehow, Octavius knows this boy will explore the entire world on his own if he must, but Octavius does not want him to go it alone.

He wants to join him. Only. He is unwell. His grandmother told him so. He must look after himself. It is his poor constitution.

 _“I don’t know who put these fool notions into your dang skull, but you’re fine.”_ The boy scoffs and waves his arm in ever widening circles. “ _It’s fine. Now, come on! Let’s go!_ ”

Octavius wants to go, but he turns back to the scrolls, hesitant.

Breathing deep, he returns his gaze past the gardens. He wants to go with this boy wherever he may lead.

And so, lifting his chin, he stiffens his resolve.

He pays no mind to the scrolls of painful history, of maps of lands that could be conquered, or to the shadows that engulf the room.

Instead, he pushes himself away from the window.

Striding over to the door, he throws it open, sprinting into the light.

Jedediah blinks and Octavius is taken out of the universe as quickly as he had been pulled into it, this bright universe in which they are children.

Their noses almost touch, and Jedediah’s smile matches his own. The twinkle in Jedediah’s eyes tells Octavius that he must have been there with him.

Back in the real world, Octavius’s mouth quirks. “I’ll race you!”

Instantly, before Jedediah can get his bearings, Octavius springs to his feet. Jedediah scrambles after him and they are off.

Octavius is faster, much faster, in fact. He leads Jedediah on a merry chase across the Old West, zigging and zagging.

However, Jedediah is determined, and it is not long before Octavius is caught and tackled from behind. He is spinned, feet lifting into the air, and they fall down in a heap, laughing.

Octavius settles back, spine once again pressing into the scorched, hardened earth. His eyes shine.

“I want that world with you.”

Jedediah falters, overcome. He blinks, not asking what Octavius is referring to, already knowing.

Octavius’s gaze softens, and he lifts his hand and gently sweeps Jedediah’s hair from his face again. Without his Stetson, it constantly falls down over his eyes.

Leaning forward, Octavius “boops” their noses again. He finds it more humorous than it probably is, and laughs. Then finds that he cannot stop.

Apparently, he is prone to laughing fits. It is a new discovery.

At first, Jedediah revels in it, marveling. Octavius stops, but then Jedediah says something, or does something ridiculously funny and sweet, and he starts back up.

His snickering begins heading for full blown laughter once again, and to snap him out of it, Jedediah hops up, leaving him there.

Jedediah returns with the Stetson in his gloved hand. Rubbing his face, he crouches down, observing Octavius’s hilarity, a gleam in his eyes.

The cowboy hat lifts.

Before long, the ten minutes is up and Baby slowly turns _her_ massive head. Bounding from the wall, she joins the fray, jaws opening wide. She rumbles, a happy sound.

Sweet Pea soon follows, whinnying and pushing her weight against the dinosaur, demanding to be included in this impromptu family gathering.

They pounce and all hope for seriousness is lost, playing _let’s all make Daddy shriek and cackle like a loon._

The wooing is in complete and utter shambles this night, but the play more than makes up for any lingering disappointment.

Jedediah is laughing, too. Although, corner him, and he will never admit to it.

Roughhousing with his nearest and dearest — his best friend and their two daughters — relishing the closeness that comes from this kind of intimacy is a perfectly acceptable alternative to romance. Even if, in the end, it means he is pinned by the massive, skeletal remains of a dinosaur and a whinnying horse, and relentlessly battered by the hat of doom.

* * *

_Several nights later..._

While Octavius is devoted to this courtship, he and Jedediah’s time together has cemented a strong bond of friendship between them.

And like with most friendships, they often share in the ridiculous.

Which is how Octavius finds himself standing with his army, peering up at the various members of the Old West.  

He has a plan.

Had a plan.

In his mind, he deemed this plan to be glorious. Of course, he had also conceived of this particular scheme prior to admitting to himself that he’d fallen in love.

The plan is simply this: “conquer the Americans.” He wishes to conquer them at least once, for pity’s sake. It is a matter of pride.

Only, instead of conquering them by sword or threat of violence, he intends to conquer them by a far more peaceful, albeit unconventional, means.

Now that he stands before Jedediah, he debates with himself on whether this is the wisest course of action to take.

It is a gamble, to be sure.

He takes a deep breath. Well, it’s already been established Jedediah likes him when he’s silly. He stiffens his resolve. It is now or never. Otherwise, he will lose his nerve.

“Beloved!” he calls.

Jedediah rests his hands upon his waist, staring down. “Whataya want, lambchop?”

“I have something for you,” Octavius says, his tone low and lilting.

“Oh, yeah? What is it?”

Octavius shakes his head. His poor, sweet, innocent, dear little church mouse. Jedediah’s expression is so guileless that Octavius’s confidence in his plan wavers, wobbles for a moment.

Reminding himself that it is now or never, he lifts his arm.

At his signal, the Romans all give the Americans _cats that ate the canary_ grins and lift up their pteruges to expose their undergarments.

There is a collective gasp from cowboys and they take a step back from the edge of the diorama.

Sweet Pea nickers.

The Madam’s eyes go wide, she fails to snap her whip. Her arms hang at her hip, riding crop forgotten.

Octavius plan is twofold. One: bring his mostly puritan counterparts to their knees with a flash of exposed, manly thigh, which was his glorious intention back when it was originally conceived. And, two, the new goal: he wishes to observe Jedediah’s reaction to the male form unencumbered by the distractions of the museum.

And of course, his new discovery about Jedediah liking when Octavius is utterly ridiculous certainly plays no small role in the affair.

Octavius modestly keeps his own pteruges pulled down around his knees, he’s sensible in that, at least.

He observes Jedediah closely, attempting to decipher anything from his expression.

Jedediah appears dumbstruck.

Bewildered, he blinks rapidly at the display before him, his eyes having flown wide. His mouth hangs open. He darts his gaze to Octavius, still blinking.

The results are inconclusive. _Blast!_ Jedediah is neither interested nor disinterested. He simply blinks. And keeps blinking, eyes trained solely on Octavius.  

“Hmm.”

Octavius sighs, annoyed, hands fisted on his hips. He kicks up what little dust there is on the floor with his sandalled feet. He refuses to admit he’s pouting.

And then there is a collective gasp from the Romans. A tense silence falls over them.

Alarmed, Octavius whips his head. He finds Felix, pteruges still gripped in his hands. He finds nearly _all_ of Felix exposed, his genitals on full display. He is not wearing undergarments.

At the intense focus, Felix loses his smile and glances down. He gasps and instantly drops the end of his pteruges, pulling them down over his knees. He wavers in balance, hunkering down, blushing furiously at being so thoroughly revealed.

“I am so terribly sorry!” he exclaims to the Americans.

Wide-eyed, his face twists in embarrassment. He sweeps his gaze through the American crowd, eyes darkening.

Romans shift their focus. The Americans bring their heads around fast. All eyes turn as they each follow Felix’s line of sight. It rests on one lone, barrel-chested cowboy sporting a Roman helmet.

Bill leans casually against a fence post, rubbing his stubbled jaw, unsuccessfully attempting to suppress his amusement. He tips his helmet at the assembly.

Ducking his head, Felix whisper-shouts, “Psst, Bill! Bill! Why didn’t you tell me I was so lacking when I left your tent last night?”

Bill lifts his gloved palms, ducking his head, barely hiding his bemused expression. He huffs out a breath. Shrugging, he smiles, all teeth. “Reckon I was speechless. Was admiring the view too much.”

Felix blushes a brilliant scarlet. His mouth quirks up, going from mortified to pleased to overjoyed.

He grabs the ends of his pteruges, twisting them in place, a gleam in his dark eyes, and bounces a little in place.

“Whew!” he exclaims, laughing, and lifts the pteruges again, flashing Bill. And the whole of the Americans once more.

Octavius’s mouth falls open.

With the exception of Bill, the American men all flinch back and gasp.

Calamity Jane shoulders her way into the front. “Men in their tiny, little drawers,” she scoffs loftily. She stands with her legs a shoulder width apart, exuding confidence. “That’s nothing! Get a load of these!”

Rapidly, she unbuttons her shirt.

“No!” the cowboys screech, arms outstretched, and then Charley materializes out of nowhere, sidestepping in front of Jane, shielding her impropriety, hands clasped tightly in front of him.

He glares down at the Roman army and shakes his head once.

Crestfallen, Jane looks down her shirt and at the swell of her own breasts, taking in the sight. She squeezes her chest together. “But they're so perky!”

Most of the American men, and a handful of American women, whip their gazes.

Charley does not budge. He remains statue-like and unmoving, protective of Jane’s dubious virtue.

Titus stands frozen, mouth hanging open. He blinks down, gives his head a shake, raises his hand, and bounces anxiously on the balls of his feet. His expression is earnest. “I’d like to see them, actually.”

Jane pokes her head around Charley, but only her head.

Titus gives her a shy, sideways smile.

Jedediah’s head drops into his hand. He peeks at Octavius through his splayed gloved fingers, humor dancing around in his gaze.

Octavius’s face is carefully expressionless, but there is a twinkle in his eyes. Jedediah can get no redder than he is at this very moment.

Through his fingers, Jedediah’s mouth quivers slightly.

Unable to help himself, Octavius smiles back, all teeth.

Abruptly, a laugh breaks from Jedediah’s throat. He chuckles, finding genuine humor in the situation.

It is music to Octavius’s ears.

Squinting, the skin around Jedediah’s eyes crinkles. His breath hitches with laughter. He attempts to hide it behind his palm, but fails miserably. Removing the hand, he bends at the waist, having to clutch his stomach, he’s laughing so hard.

His smile is full-on and blinding.

Finally.

Octavius lifts his chin and answers Jedediah’s smile with his own. It is still not proper wooing by any stretch of the imagination, far from it, but Jedediah’s quick laughter makes it a solid victory.

All at once, Jedediah crumples to his knees.

Octavius rejoices for one wild, euphoric moment, lifting his arms in celebration to the gods.

“Yes!”

Victorious, at last, he jumps up and down.

He’d once proclaimed he’d have Jedediah on his knees before him.

Well.

Laughing, Jedediah falls over on his side. Knees bent, he still clutches his stomach, shoulders shaking with mirth.

The only thing that would make this night better would be if Octavius was up there with him.

He bounces on the balls of his feet over Jedediah’s sense of humor manifesting like it is, especially when it comes to nudity.

They’ve come far, miles from where they had been. Getting there. It is at a snail’s pace, but they are getting there. Slowly, but surely.

And Octavius wouldn’t change a thing. Watching these barriers fall —

It is glorious!

There is no other he would rather share this journey with.

Marcus and Tiberius exchange surprised glances at one another.

Maximus remains standing. Pivoting to his fellow countrymen and the Americans, alike, he spreads his arms wide. “Are you not entertained?”

Malachi lifts his voice, shouting, “Ah, shut your gob, ye great hulking eejit!”

Maximus lifts his chin. “Wash your face, love.”

“Kiss me arse!”

Hearing a commotion from the back of the American line, Octavius shifts his gaze, only to see Silas elbow his way through the crowd. He loses his smile.

Silas unbuckles his belt and turns around, bending over. “I’ll give y’all somethin’ to ogle!”

Before Silas can expose himself, Jedediah moves to intercept. He hops up and marches into the crowd and grabs him by the ear. Silas stiffens, shoulders instantly bunching up.

“Owie, owie, owie!”

Octavius watches Jedediah disappear, dragging Silas along behind him and away from the diorama’s edge.

He has to pull his gaze away.

Around him, the Romans and Americans all abruptly begin talking at once, interrupting each other, swirls of conversation, each prattling and laughing over their counterparts, chattering wildly.

Arms folded, Octavius stands apart, observing, taking it in. The friendly, if bickering, banter is like an anthem. His eyes are glowing.

Past the bench, the Mayans are whooping in their own diorama. They mirror the Romans’ shenanigans, lifting up their own sparse clothing either in jest or to join in the madness.

Of course, they’re not wearing undergarments.

Octavius arches an eyebrow. He gets the feeling their gestures aren’t meant to be mocking. Rather, it appears the Mayans desperately want to unify with the Romans and Americans, but haven’t quite mastered the concept.

He rubs at his forehead, feeling heat creep up his cheeks; the oddest reaction.

The Mayans may be keeping the dioramas safe with their patrols and their nightly hunts, attempting to use the spoils as peace offerings, but Octavius still hasn’t forgiven them.

Off in the distance, Octavius can hear Jedediah attempting to get through to Silas, who yammers a reply. “But ya said I had ta' respect the ladyfolk! You didn’t say nuthin’ ‘bout goin’ around, respectin’ the menfolk!”

Even across the distance, he watches the Mayan chieftain fold his arms.

Fathomless eyes gleaming, the chieftain looks at him for a long, uncomfortable minute.

Defiant, Octavius lifts his chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you goes to my super awesome beta, [CuriousDinosaur.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) We do great work together. Chest bump?
> 
> Also, for those of you following along with my RL comments, my surgery is scheduled for September 28th. I will attempt to get one more section out to you before that time, but if I don't, and disappear for a couple of weeks after, please know the story is still very close to my heart and always in my thoughts. I will return to the fic as soon as humanly possible. 
> 
> Also, I appreciate any and all happy thoughts, well wishes, good vibes, and prayers. Thank you!


	20. Going Courtin', Part Three

_Many nights later…_

Not every night is a celebration.

This evening, in particular, finds the Romans and Americans engaged in combat.

After so many decades, each side is accustomed to fighting. It has formed into a habit, a ritual, of sorts, that proves difficult to break.

So they wage war.

Only there is a unique difference in the way they engage one another. Their battles have shifted.

They are having a playdate.

At the moment, the hall is a sea of writhing movement.

Punches are thrown. Bodies are lifted high over shoulders and slammed to the ground. Swords and non-working rifles clash. Americans clang off shields. Romans twist in full circles after being whacked in the face with shovels.

Even some Mayans have cautiously ventured down from their diorama to join in the battle.

Octavius watches this interaction carefully, but so far, the Mayans are behaving themselves and not dragging anyone off. They are more confused and bewildered by this mock battle than anything. Skittish.

A tattooed Mayan woman separates herself from her group and observes the combatants.

Like a stalking feline, she is crouched low. She peers back and forth between the Romans and the Americans. A frown creases her brow.

Puzzled, she tilts her head to the side. Her lips part as though to form words, revealing teeth that have been filed down to sharp points.

Instead of speaking, she reconsiders. Pressing her lips tight, she silences herself. She continues to study the faux battle warily.

Octavius watches as one of the Chinese railroad workers notices the additional company. The worker lifts his hand, halting the battle with his Roman counterpart long enough to make a judgment call as to the interloper’s intentions.

The man glances up into the Old West at Jedediah, who stands beside Octavius.

Jedediah meets the railroad worker's eyes. A question is asked silently. Jedediah nods, giving an answer equally as quiet.

When it is clear the woman means no harm, the railroad worker pulls a red scarf from a pouch at his hip. He extends the scarf out to the woman respectfully, using both of his hands.

Timid, the woman reaches and takes it.

Attention riveted on her gift, she stares at the scarf. Her head cocks to the side, as though she is uncertain what she is supposed to do with it.

Jedediah turns from the scene, striding back into the Old West. He leaves Octavius to stare over the side of the diorama at the intermingling forces.

Change is coming. Octavius knows this. Feels it in his bones. He does not know how to take these new developments, but it makes him uneasy.

Even as he ponders this, he hears the squealing of a brown piglet as it scampers around the American encampment searching for food.

It is intricately tattooed and adorned with tiny, colorful beads. This, too, is a new development.

It is a gift from the Mayans, evidence they have been growing brazen and sneaking into the Old West diorama unnoticed. Octavius does not like this. He does not like this at all. It scares him. In fact, it frightens him to death. Anything could happen. People could be drugged and dragged off into the night. And Octavius doesn’t want to lose anyone. Not one. Not even Silas.

Voicing his concerns, he marches after Jedediah.

“Have you never heard the phrase: _Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes?_ ”

“I fear the Danaans bearing even gifts,” Jedediah translates, calling over his shoulder. “Or, to paraphrase it into English: _Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.”_ He lifts his head. “They ain’t Greek, ‘Tavius. And the poor thing’s a little small to be a Trojan Horse.”

“It could be diseased and may be the beginnings of biological warfare.”

Jedediah grunts skeptically, waving his hand.

Octavius’s mouth thins. “It could be an agent, deployed to eat you out of house and home!”

“Ain’t got a house. Don’t even got me a tent anymore.” Jedediah looks back accusingly. “You killed it, remember?”

“I attempted to remedy my blunder, darling. It was you who declined my offers.”

“I ain’t movin’ in with ya!”

Octavius lifts his head grandly. He sniffs. “That was merely _one_ of my glorious solutions.” Hands clasped behind his back, he rocks on his heels. Amusement flashes in his gaze. “Pity. I rather fancied that one.”

Jedediah stops walking.

Exhaling sharply, he looks down and rests his hands against his hips.

“Yeah? Well, you would,” he says, and kicks dirt with the toes of his boots.

Octavius laughs quietly. He shakes his head, both serious and teasing. “I adore you.” His eyes shine with the truth of his words. “I truly hope you don’t mind.”

After a beat, Jedediah turns to face him. He’s pouting.

Octavius quietly laughs again. As much as he adores Jedediah, he loves aggravating him even more. Warm satisfaction kindles in his gaze.

After a beat, he turns serious again. He strides up to stand beside Jedediah.

“We must be responsible about this. We cannot afford to have them skulking about here unencumbered.”

“You’re makin’ a mountain out of a molehill. We gotta make nice with our neighbors. And we can’t do that if they think we don’t trust ‘em.”

Octavius flails his arms. “We _don’t_ trust them!”

 _“You_ don’t trust ‘em,” Jedediah corrects him, pointing. _“I’m_ tryin’ to give ‘em the benefit of the doubt.”

Octavius points back. “They attempted to make a sacrifice of Lucius. They’ve waged unprovoked attacks against both of our peoples. Not battles, but attacks.” He moves closer. “Or, have you forgotten?”

Jedediah pulls a face. He drops his gaze. “No, I ain’t forgot.” His eyes dart. “I remember everything.” He lifts his head, spreading his arms. “But that was ages ago.”

“That may be so, but believe me when I say that I have a rather long memory. Longer still when it involves the safety of those I care about.”

Octavius moves to stand even closer. He is so near, they are almost sharing the same breath.

“Please be rational about this, my love. I do not consider this a joke. Nor am I questioning your intentions. They are well-meaning.”

“Good.”

Octavius holds up his palm. “All I’m asking is for you to consider your own safety in this. The safety of your people.”

Jedediah opens his mouth to argue, but Octavius holds up his palm again to halt him.

“You may not wish to be, Jedediah, but you _are_ their leader. They look to you to provide direction. Do not simply hand over the keys to the kingdom in order to be contrary or to prove me a fantasist. Allow the Mayans to earn our trust. Slowly.”

Jedediah points in the direction of the Mayan diorama. “They’re tryin’, doggone it! And I ain’t being contrary. I _am_ thinkin’ of my people. I’m thinkin’ about all of us.” He sounds tired. “The Mayans, too. They look sad. And lonely.” He looks away, biting his lip. His voice is soft when he speaks. “So lonely.”

Octavius watches the play of emotion on Jedediah's face. His resolve falters. He tilts his head. “Sweetheart…”

Jedediah folds his arms over his chest. He bounces on the balls of his feet, his mouth a thin line.

“I can’t stand for folk ta’ go around bein’ lonely, Oct.” He faces Octavius for a moment, then blushes and looks away. He has to swallow to force out the rest of the words. “I just can’t!”

Octavius presses at his closed eyelids until galaxies twirl in front of his vision. He sighs, defeated. “I know.” He wishes to pull Jedediah close. Hold him. Cup the line of his jaw. Kiss him softly.

He doesn’t, of course, knowing none of these gestures would be welcome. “But if something irreversible were to happen, I would be gutted.” The blood in his veins turns to ice. “Thoroughly.”

Jedediah lets his eyes fall closed for a moment. Glancing down at his own feet, his arms are still folded. He is still bouncing. The muscles in his jaw works.

Pursing his lips, Octavius considers. “At least allow me to set up patrols. Sentinels.” He lifts his eyebrows. “I’ll be discreet. My men will don western attire. The Mayans will never know.”

“No!”

“Jedediah!” Octavius says sharply. The chastisement sounds more like _Jeda-DIAH!_

And just like that, the moment of tenderness is over and they are back to arguing.

Jedediah turns on his heel and begins marching again.

He whirls, walking backward. His arms are spread wide. “You and your boys sneak into our camp all the dang time.”

“Yes,” Octavius admits, head lifted high. “But it’s never been to drug anyone or drag them off to their doom. And I know my own motives and motivations.” He flings his upturned palm toward the Mayan diorama. “They, on the other hand, I do not.”

“I don’t get you all’s motivations half the time either,” Jedediah says.

Octavius rolls his eyes and stomps his foot.

He doesn’t believe this is an entirely accurate statement of fact. Jedediah knows perfectly well why the Romans visit. He certainly knows why Octavius visits. Octavius has left no room for doubt on that quarter — whether they are to remain strictly platonic friends or future romantic partners makes little difference here — Octavius simply wishes to spend time with him.

As for the other Americans —  he has not heard them voice an objection to the Romans in their diorama. Matches have been made. More are forming. Jedediah is simply being perpetually stubborn and willfully clueless.

“My point, dearest, is that we Romans mean you and yours no true harm. Of that, I can well assure you.”

“Neither do they,” Jedediah says, pointing to the Mayans.

He turns back around, heading further into the Old West.

Octavius sputters indignantly and stomps after him.

“We don’t know that!” He spreads his arms. “For all we know, that squealing, snuffling little scavenger could be Mayan sorcery at work. It could be a master assassin in disguise!”

Jedediah rolls his head and shouts. “Ah, come on!”

“Do not be flippant! Do not dismiss my misgivings towards magic so easily, Jedediah. You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. It’s what keeps us both alive.”

He points to the scampering piglet, gesturing expansively. “If that pig sprouted wings and flew to the moon, I would not be surprised. Taken aback, certainly, but not entirely surprised.”

Jedediah waves a hand. “You’re gettin’ all melodramatic. Lettin’ your imagination run wild. It’s fine. They gotta start somewhere. And they were probably just thanking us for sharin’ our fire.”

“Then where’s _my_ pig?”

No sooner than he voices this question, he hears an oink, a sharp squeal, and then he is tripping over the piglet that has somehow magically appeared underfoot and has gotten tangled between his legs.

Arms flailing wildly, he yelps.

He falls forward, only just catching himself with his palms before he does a complete faceplant.

A wet nose is pressed to his cheek, which is decidedly _not_ Jedediah’s.

He screeches. Before he can flinch away, the nose disappears and he feels the weight of the piglet as it hops on his armor-plated back, making a nest of his paludamentum.

Above him, Jedediah bursts out laughing. “I’d say your pig just found you, kemosabe! He must be a shared gift.”

Octavius glares up at Jedediah, and then he peers over his shoulder to glower at the piglet.

The diabolical little pest oinks at him. It looks smug.

He pulls a face. “More like we’ve been cursed with a shapeshifting, teleporting, Mayan assassin death pig.”

“Aw, poor baby.”

Jedediah hitches his breeches up at the knees and crouches down, not to assist Octavius, but to pet the piglet.

Typical.

The piglet grunts happily, angling its brown head so Jedediah is certain to scratch behind its ears.

Its little hooves kick rhythmically against Octavius’s armor with each scratch, beating him mercilessly. The spiteful little brute.

_“Ow, ow, ow!”_

“Now, now,” Jedediah says to him. “You ain’t hurt. You just got a way with the animals, is all, Oct. It’s a gift. They like ya.”

Octavius harrumphs, annoyed. “But I don’t like _them.”_  

 _“Mmm-hmm.”_ Huffing, Jedediah says warmly, “Liar.”

“It isn’t a falsehood,” Octavius declares, chin lifted. His gaze is superior and very Roman. “I do not like animals.”

“Well, I like the fact they like you so much, Ockie. S’nice.” He shrugs, and then dips his eyes down. “Animals know things. It tells me a lot.”

Startled, Octavius blinks up and loses his mask of superiority. His heart trips in his chest.  

The piglet oinks and continues to grunt happily. After turning around in three complete circles, it nestles itself back into Octavius’s paludamentum, content.

Jedediah coos at the assassin pig. “I think I’ll name you —”

Octavius lifts his eyes to the heavens. “Please, not again.”

Jedediah’s gaze lights up. “Mr. Apple.”

Octavius’s exhalation is combustive.

He lies with his head propped up on one hand, drumming his fingers in the dirt with the other, scowling. “I’m not adopting him. I draw the line at shapeshifting, teleporting, Mayan assassin death pigs.”

Jedediah _“boops”_ his nose with a gloved finger. “Hush, you, he’s our new pet. He likes ya. And you’re gonna scare ‘em with chatter like that.”

Octavius’s gaze softens, entranced, but only for a moment. At the thought of calling this assassin pig: _Mr. Apple,_ Jedediah’s soft touch loses all power over him.

Nettled, and with rigid words, he states adamantly, “His name is _Assassin_.”

Jedediah _“boops”_ his nose again, gaze level and knowing.

His smile turns sharp, and his eyelids lower slowly. He blinks, and they lower again. Slower this time. His smile widens, lazy.

Octavius startles, realizing Jedediah is making a genuine effort to flirt with him. Well. Perhaps _“flirt”_ is too strong a term. The gaze isn’t precisely a cowboy smolder, but it’s awfully close. So close.

The corners of his mouth lifts as he stares in wonderment at this new development. He is strangely moved by this attempt at flirtation. His gaze softens once again. He cannot say Jedediah isn’t trying, bless him.

Even if it is to best Octavius over the naming of a blasted Mayan assassin death pig.

At first, Octavius feels flustered, lightheaded, mind a whirl, fearful of making a wrong move that could send Jedediah scuttling back in the opposite direction, but even then spontaneous joy fills his heart.

Emotion wells, bubbles bursting inside his belly.

Stubborn, Jedediah lifts his chin. He returns Octavius’s grin, expression still knowing. His gaze darkens. That widening smile is absolutely devastating. At close range, it could be lethal. Lifting his eyebrows, he says, “Our pet’s name is _Mr. Apple.”_

Octavius lets out a quiet laugh. His teeth gleams his amusement.

He mock-glowers, keeping up the flirtation, not wanting it to end.

A trail of fire blazing in his veins, he flicks his gaze suspiciously at Jedediah. His voice rumbles in a low, smoky register.

“I know you’re doing this on purpose. Christening these beasts that come into our lives the most ludicrous-sounding names you can think of, believing I’ll cave because I am besotted by your delightfully masculine, backwoods charms.”

Jedediah blinks and tilts his head to the side. He studies Octavius for a long moment, uncertain. Losing confidence at the turnabout, the lines around his eyes deepen, flirtation leaving his gaze. “Aincha?”

“Yes!” Octavius shouts, fingers digging claw marks into the hardened earth.

Jostled, the piglet startles and rolls off Octavius’s armor and onto the ground.

It immediately hops back on his back oinking in protest, telling him off.

Jedediah’s flicker of amusement gives way to him ducking his head. He laughs. True laughter, rich and warm.

Octavius had been scowling, annoyed, but loses his irritation at the sound.

Those blue eyes are clear now, not dark, the sharp smile fading into one more genuine and suited for Jedediah’s face. It is dazzling, really. Happy. He glows with it.

Octavius smiles now, one equally as true. A blush heats his cheeks. He isn’t accustomed to being flustered. He certainly isn’t accustomed to letting it show. He is used to being polished, smooth, sophisticated, perfectly at ease, and publicly unflappable.

Pursing his lips, he asks, “I’m creating a monster, aren’t I? With all my flirting, I mean.”

Jedediah shrugs again, but it appears that, inwardly, he’s still smiling. He remains crouched, arms propped on his knees. His expression is warm. Almost loving.

Octavius basks in that expression, believing this is what true happiness looks like.

A soft breeze cuts through the diorama, lifting Jedediah’s hair as though he’s willed it.

By the gods, this man is gorgeous.

Octavius’s eyes rove, hopeful and with gallant attention. The sight has him losing his resistance to the ridiculous name. Well. Most of it.

Sighing, he looks back over his shoulder. He sneers at the piglet, but for Jedediah’s sake he will be pleasant. “Mr. Apple,” he concedes. Quietly he mouths: _Assassin_ to the pig _._

Pleasantries out of the way, he shifts his focus back on Jedediah. His expression turns lopsided instantly, his gaze: doe-eyed. If he had a tail, it would be waving from side to side enthusiastically.

“Good boy!”

Bewildered, Octavius loses his grin and peers back over his shoulder again. “What has the assassin done now?”

“The praise was aimed at you, baby blue.”

Octavius’s brow crinkles. “That pet name makes entirely no sense. There is nothing blue about me.”

Jedediah simply shrugs, eyes knowing and perceptive. They shine, but without guile this time.

“You’re true-blue ta’ me.” His gaze turns thoughtful. He tilts his head to the side. “You’re a good man, Oct,” he says quietly.

A whisper of breath escapes Octavius’s lungs in a rush. His eyes are wide and completely open, softening in a sudden flash of vulnerability. His chin quivers with it.

He stares stupidly, feeling a pang as his heart expands. It is a wondrous feeling, but it’s painful, also. Something fierce twists inside his belly. He swallows hard, fervently desiring Jedediah’s opinion of him to remain high like this forever.

There is no sharpness to Jedediah’s features now. His face is open, gaze filled with simple human warmth. He hums softly to himself and _“boops”_ Octavius’s nose with his gloved finger one final time.

There’s a sparkle of starlight in Jedediah’s gaze for a moment before they glaze over. The very tip of his tongue slips past his lips, as his gaze darkens. A look of intensity flashes across his face, a blush spreading across skin.

Brow furrowing, he pauses a moment. He blinks. His eyes grow abruptly large and he sucks in a sharp breath.

Jolting upright, he hastily rises from his crouch.

Gloved fists clenched tight, he hurriedly departs with long strides, tousled hair bouncing as he leaves Octavius where he lies.  

His pace is quick.

And now he’s pulling jerkily on the cuffs of his blue sleeves.

In his retreat, he passes by a hinged sign advertising a tailor’s shop. His fist opens only to snap closed again.

He lunges at the sign, pulling back his arm and punching it in a roundhouse swing.

It goes flying up into the air in a jagged arc, and then swings back and forth, shuddering unevenly with a distinct creaking sound.

He strides on without pause, cradling his face in his palms.

Octavius sighs, digging his fingers into the dirt.

It would appear Jedediah’s self defense mechanism has kicked in. His brain must have caught up with his flirtation and now he’s backpedaling, thoroughly spooked and angry with himself for being so.

His poor, sweet, innocent, shy little church mouse thinks too much.

Jedediah is trying; Octavius knows he’s trying. It is simply that Jedediah is cursed with too little confidence and blessed with an over abundance of stubborn will. Not to mention the trauma of memory working against him. He is fighting an uphill battle.

Octavius has vowed to be patient and understanding. He can be an extremely patient man when he chooses to be. And Jedediah is worth, far and above, more than he realizes.

He is worth waiting for.

This does not mean Octavius doesn’t feel helpless and frustrated when he sees Jedediah struggling like this.

Especially when he knows Jedediah has the capacity for affection. And, great love.

He doesn’t hop up and race after him, knowing his presence is unwelcome and that Jedediah needs to work this out on his own.

So, he lies there. In the dirt. With a pig.

However, since Jedediah doesn’t have eyes in the back of his skull, Octavius pauses a moment to at least appreciate the view. He is a man, after all.

Making no effort to hide his perusal, he begins at Jedediah’s cowboy boots and slowly roams up to the wind-tousled mop of blond hair. And then back down again.

His brow arches.

His libido wholeheartedly approves, even with those abysmally high-waisted blue pinstriped trousers popping up above perfectly hypnotic leather breeches.

And then he catches himself, realizing he’s not helping matters, that right now, his behavior is part of the problem.

His focused intensity turns inward.

Expression vulnerable, he blinks once, and then twice. Again.

There is only one thought whirling around in his brain now, and that is to be the kind of man Jedediah believes him to be.

 _“Be better,”_ he fiercely demands of himself. “For him. Be better.”

Teeth clenched, his fingers make claw marks in the dirt with renewed tension.

At last, he lets out a soft breath and stops oggling the man.

He props himself up on his elbows.

On a very different side of the equation, he is rather proud of his friend. Very proud, indeed.

Jedediah took a gamble. He got spooked, yes, but progress has been made. For better or worse, he is learning. Learning to be close. And unbelievably, learning to flirt. To feel comfortable, at least for a little while, both in his own skin and with another person. And that the person Jedediah chose to take that chance with was Octavius.

Octavius would jump for joy if not for the diabolical little fiend pinning him down.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Octavius gathers his composure. He scowls over his shoulder at the content piglet.

His tone is cool and even.

“You will find I am not quite so tender-hearted as my companion.” He sneers. “I’m onto you. If I discover you attempting to murder either one of us in our beds,” he warns, “you will find me a most formidable enemy.

“And an even more formidable father. One of my children desperately requires meat on her bones. Do we understand one another, Assassin?”

Mr. Apple snorts happily, nuzzles its head against his back and falls asleep.

* * *

_Several nights later…_

Johnny Ringo and Doc Holliday are back at it again. Now that there is peace between the Romans and the Americans, the pair’s grievances only intensifies.

Playdates aren’t working for them. The battles aren’t real.

Having no way to work out their aggression, every little thing is setting them off and has them at each other’s throats.

While the Romans are not called for assistance, Octavius cannot stand by and do nothing. He knows Jedediah is perfectly capable, but he cannot restrain his protective impulses.

Octavius grabs Doc by his duster, lifting him off his feet in a bear hug.

Jedediah stands on the opposite side, breathing heavy, holding on to Ringo.

While the combatants scramble to break loose, Octavius and Jedediah face each other.

Their gazes remain steady, eyes locked from across the diorama.

* * *

_Several nights later..._

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

The rhythmic pounding of metal against wood is heard in the Old West.

Octavius cranes his neck, peering around his own diorama to watch Jedediah whipping a large hammer around in a fast arc, nailing large pieces of dried wood together.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Octavius pulls a face. Jedediah looks wild. His face is red, hot, and sweaty. His clothes are damp from his labors and he appears disheveled. His hair is a mess.

As though hearing Octavius’s inward critique of his appearance, Jedediah whirls.

Caught staring, Octavius lifts his chin. “You look tense. Love, is there a problem?”

Jedediah’s posture is stiff. He wipes his brow and whips the hammer down in a quick, wide circle.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

“I see you’re occupied!” Octavius observes, calling from across their dioramas.

Jedediah narrows his eyes, gloved fingers tight on his hammer’s grip. He looks twitchy.

Caution triumphs over bravery, and Octavius decides to leave Jedediah to his own devices. When one’s beloved is in a rage and suitably armed, it is always wise to leave well enough alone.

He points his hand toward his own diorama. “I’ll just —” He announces grandly, “I will remain over here.”

Jedediah makes an aggressive show of transferring the hammer from one hand to the other. He swings it down in a wide arc, and Octavius backs up a step.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Octavius sniffs, deeming that Jedediah needs his space. All friendships, even the greatest ones, benefit from a little _“me”_ time every once in awhile.

* * *

_Several nights later…_

_“Taa-daa!”_

Octavius angles his head, taking in Jedediah’s home improvement project. He is uncertain what he’s looking at.

Nose scrunching up, he purses his lips. Stumped, he folds his arms over his chest and flicks his eyes to Jedediah.

“It’s a stockade,” Jedediah supplies helpfully. “Made for two.” He lifts both his eyebrows. “You know. As in, the stocks? Pillories?”

Octavius stands cupping one elbow. The other hand is lifted to his chin in thought. He pulls a face. Far be it for him to insult Jedediah’s artistic vision, but he’s not entirely certain what he’s supposed to make of these new additions to the Old West.

Blowing out a breath, he tilts his head in the opposite direction, committing the new terms to memory.

“Yes, but what do they do?” he asks, at last.

Jedediah waves his arms.

On either side of him are Doc Holliday and Johnny Ringo.

Bent forward at the waist, their heads and arms are stuck between two hinged boards. Their ankles are secured in place with thick chains hooked into two simple pillars that brace the structures together.  

Partially immobilized, the pair of miscreants attempt to pull their extremities free of the stockade and escape their bonds.

Their actions only cause them to bang their skulls repeatedly against the boards.

Ringo’s light-colored Stetson falls off his head. He screams his frustration.

They hurl nonsensical epithets at Jedediah.

Wagging his finger, Jedediah draws himself up to his full height. He is in complete possession of the situation.

“I don’t want to hear it. You two are gonna work out your grievances on your own. I’m done being your go-between and referee. I ain’t your daddy.”

“Ah hell, Jed!”

“Tarnation!”

The double stockade shakes, rattles, and wobbles, but it holds the two miscreants in place.

Octavius arches an eyebrow.

* * *

_Later that night…_

“Read to me,” Octavius says.

Tired of standing, he has propped himself against the platform of the twin pillories with his helmet positioned down over his eyes.

Jedediah makes a noncommittal sound.

He sits beside Octavius, thumbing through his journal while the stockaded pair winds down _Round: 117_ of their shouting match.

It’s touch and go.

Just when Doc and Ringo seem to come to an understanding and are calming down, they start back up again.

“Don’t mind him, Jed,” Doc says. “Ol’ Ringo’s flat out of his mind.”

“You’re one to talk, you two-faced, consumption-ridden, lyin’, little sphincter!”

“Creative insult. I approve,” Octavius mutters, lifting his helmet from his eyes. He feels it prudent to give some positive encouragement at this juncture.

“Hey!” Jedediah elbows him in his side. “Don’t you start.”

Octavius pulls a face. Settling in, he wiggles his rump to get more comfortable. His palms rest peacefully on his chest. His breath deepens. “Yes, dear.”

Above him, _Round: 118_ begins building steam.

“You’re as crooked as a Virginia fence. Stubborn. Plain stubborn. I did not shoot your cow-tippin’ ass. I wasn’t even in Pueblo at the time.”

“Liar! That bullet didn’t hit me in my ass. You shot me in the gol-darned head, ya damn fool. And I know it was you, ya no-good —” Ringo scrunches up his nose. “You know what? You’re chock full of coral dust, chewing up nails and spittin’ out corkscrews. You wouldn't know the truth if it came up and chewed out your asshole!”

“Oh, yeah?” Doc counters. “Well, if I _did_ shoot you, it was probably a mercy killin’.” He eyes Ringo up and down. “Look at you, tryin’ to ruin my poise,” he says with a lazy, unaffected drawl. “You're about as useful as tits on a bull, and ugly as a burnt boot.”

Octavius arches an eyebrow. He lifts his helmet off his skull.

Doc angles his head within the confines of the stockade. To Octavius, he asks, “Have you seen a burnt boot?” He whistles. “Shit-fire, son.”

Ringo narrows his eyes. He vibrates, an insult forming on his lips, but Jedediah beats him to it.

“Language,” he cautions, turning a page.

Frustrated, Ringo bangs his head, and fires back at Doc. “Let’s talk about them boots,” he grates. “The ones your thieving hide stole off me while I lay there dyin’!”

“Them boots were found tied across the saddle of your own dodgasted horse!”

“Precisely! You tied ‘em there after ya shot me!”

“I didn’t shoot you! I was before a judge. For larceny. At the time.”

“Bullshit! You tied me up and ya shot me!”

“You probably shot your own fool self! Tombstone’s deadliest gunfighter, my ass! I reckon you tripped.”

“Yeah, I tripped. Tripped because strips of my undershirt was tied around my ankles! The ones you forgot to take with you after ya up and shot me. I swear you got a ten dollar Stetson on a five-cent head.”

“At least I got a Stetson. Where did ya get that knockoff?” Doc nods at the light-colored cowboy hat on the ground. “A freight caravan? You look ridiculous!”

Ringo smiles sweetly. Too sweetly. “Aw. Well, bless your heart…”

Doc’s eyes widen. He gasps, appearing insulted to his very core. “You son of a bitch! Them's fightin’ words! You ain’t worth the powder and lead ta’ blow ya to hell and back!”

“See! Right there, right there!” Ringo snaps his fingers and points. “You heard that! You both heard it! He just admitted he shot me!”

“I did not shoot your tangle-footed ass!”

“Says, you!”

“Says, me!”

“I got all night,” Jedediah reminds them softly, not looking up from his journal.

Ringo screams incoherently and jerks at his bonds, thumping his head and rattling the boards.

Doc smirks. "Aw. Poor soul's too high-strung,” he drawls lazily. “I'm afraid the strain’s gonna be too much of a burden to bear.”

Octavius draws himself up on his elbows. He tilts his head back, peering up at them.

“Shut up!” Ringo snaps.

Doc hoots, chuckling softly.

He leans further into the stockade, limbs perfectly at ease now at the forced confinement. “Why, Johnny Ringo, you’re awfully pale all of a sudden. Looks like somebody’s done walked all over your grave.”

“That’s ‘cause ya shot me, cooter!”

“For the last time. I didn’t shoot you,” Doc clarifies. He lifts his index finger. “I want to shoot you. But I didn’t shoot you.”

Fuming, Ringo’s eyes dart to Jedediah. “Let me at ‘em, boss. I’m gonna kill ‘em!”

Jedediah turns a page. “Nope. You two are gonna work it out. The past is the past. It can’t be changed. Tonight we’re moving forward.”

Both men glare at one another. “No!” they shout simultaneously.

Not looking up, Jedediah says, “If this don’t work, I’m putting ya both in a _“get-along”_ shirt and sewing ya up tight, I swear I will! So you best be finding yourselves some common ground.”

Doc looks Ringo in the eye and smiles. He winks.

Ringo screams, lifting his face to the heavens.

“Work it out,” Jedediah repeats softly. His tone is resolute.

He turns a page, clears his throat, and begins reading softly.

* * *

_Later that night…_

Octavius has to force himself to keep his eyes open. Head resting on Jedediah’s shoulder, he leans his weight against his friend.

Baby snuffles on the opposite side of him, creating a miniature dirt devil.

Listening to Jedediah’s voice as he reads from his journal is lulling Octavius to sleep. He breathes deep.

The soft dulcet tones have already done a number on Baby, as she used Jedediah’s reading as a bedtime story.

Octavius lifts his palm, and strokes the ridge of her snout.

In sleep, she tilts her head toward the contact and rumbles softly.

The hellbeast whinnies on the opposite side of Jedediah. She blows breath out through her nose.

Jedediah closes his journal.

His reading has also affected the pair of miscreants behind them. They may not have fallen asleep, or even enjoyed the storytelling, but they are certainly being quiet and not taking jibes at one another.

Octavius considers this a win.

All of the sudden, he is jolted to full wakefulness.

Doc Holliday sobs loudly.

Baby startles beside him. Groggy, she lifts her head.

The noise grows louder.

“Nobody wanted to be my daddy!” Doc wails behind them. His voice turns raw.

Jedediah and Octavius look at each other, peer around, and blink.

With deep trepidation, Octavius whispers to Jedediah, “Please don’t adopt him.”

Jedediah flicks his gaze. His face is blank, but humor kindles in his eyes. He purses his mouth, looking far too tempted.

“Shush, you! You’re embarrassing me!” Ringo yells at Doc.

After a pause, he begins making inarticulate choking sounds, inhaling and exhaling rapidly.

He rubs his eyes. Voice warbling, he sniffs. “Nobody wants to hear a crying man!”

Ringo keens. Doc wails.

Sweet Pea whickers, ears pricking. She ambles off, annoyed.

Baby rumbles, embarrassed. She lifts her head out of the diorama to go play with her bone.

Octavius rubs his forehead.

Jedediah angles his jaw near Octavius’s ear. In a whisper, he asks, “Ya think it was my readin’ to them that made the breakthrough?”

Octavius leans forward on his elbows. “I think it was the shirt.”

* * *

_Later that night…_

Jostled, Octavius’s eyes flicker open.

He watches Jedediah climb to his feet as he approaches the two miscreants.

Doc and Ringo are both settled in for the night.

Dozing, their heads lol forward against the neck rest of the stockade. Both of their legs are spread wide to more evenly distribute their weight.

Jedediah watches them, thoughtful. “I think I’m gonna hafta let ‘em out of there. I don’t want ‘em accidentally hanging themselves.”

“Keep them in a little while longer. I’ll watch them.”

Jedediah pauses to consider this, folding his arms over his chest. “Nah, you’re tired. I better let ‘em out.”

Octavius shrugs. He watches as Jedediah fiddles with the locks and chains.

Doc and Ringo startle awake. Seeing Jedediah is setting them loose, they stand a little straighter.

Jedediah lifts the wooden board, freeing them. “Now I’m lettin’ ya out for the night, but if you start in again, you’re goin’ right back in there. Ya hear?”

“We hear,” Doc and Ringo say simultaneously, both petulant and in monotone whispers.

Jedediah releases them, and they go staggering off. Together. With their arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Huh,” Jedediah says, hands coming to rest on his waist. He watches them for a few moments, then bends forward, collecting his locks and his chains. “I think I’ll call ‘em: The twins.”

Octavius’s gaze flickers. “We are not adopting them.”

Jedediah huffs, eyes flashing with good humor. He doesn’t comment. Which is ominous.

Watching Doc and Ringo disappear from view, a paternal gleam forms, kindling in his eyes.

_Oh._

_Oh, no, no, no._

_No._

_No._

Octavius surges to his feet.

Dusting himself off, he swiftly changes the subject before the insidious notion can take root.

“You should consider writing in your journal again.”

Jedediah pauses his dismantling to peer across the double stockade at Octavius. He blinks. Then huffs.

A little too exaggeratedly, he holds an imaginary writing instrument in his hand. “Dear diary...”

“No.” Octavius shakes his head, halting Jedediah before he can make light of his idea. “I would like to hear our adventures from your perspective. In your words,” he clarifies.

Jedediah shrugs. “There ain’t nothing ta’ tell, really.” He blushes, quickly adding, “Just you and me.”

He stands close to Octavius, chains gripped in his gloved palms. Their breaths mingle as Octavius tilts his head back slowly.

The blue irises of Jedediah’s eyes become thin rings around suddenly large pupils. The tip of his tongue slips past his lips. Ducking his head, he adds, “Just you, me, and a coupla chains.”

There is silence.

A tumbleweed bounces merrily along.

Jedediah pauses, stills. A sharp breath escapes him. Eyes bulging, his gaze flies to Octavius.

Octavius’s face splits into an impish grin. His brow lifts, and then he tilts his head in the opposite direction as that telltale blush quickens across the rest of Jedediah’s skin.

“Mr. Smith!” Eyes wide, Octavius playfully conjures his imitation of a soft feminine drawl. Fanning himself, he surges forward, thrusting out his chin, exposing a long column of his throat. Not so much a genteel lady now as a predatory one. And...knowledgeable in the ways of breaking a man. “Well, I _do_ declare,” he purrs very low. “I have never been spoken to in such a manner in all my days.”

Instantly flustered, Jedediah stumbles backward, losing his grip on the chains. They fall with a heavy clatter onto the wooden platform.

Octavius lifts his hand, and plucks at the top button on Jedediah’s flimsy blue shirt. He tilts his head like a bird of prey, looking up through his lashes.

Jedediah’s gaze flickers.

Octavius’s smile spreads into a wolfish grin. “Curious,” he whispers in his normal voice.

Jedediah quickly ducks his head, eyes darting.

Fidgeting, he kicks the chains away.

He hooks his fingers around his red neckerchief, fussing with it. If only to have something to do with his hands.

Octavius’s smile deepens, becoming real. He huffs, shaking his head.

“My little church mouse.” He breathes a sigh. “I’m going to laugh myself silly if I come to find out you have a thing for bondage games.”

Shoulders hunched, Jedediah’s gloved fingers tangle in his own hair. Looking up, he gifts Octavius with bashful, little half-smiles.

Humming softly, Octavius straightens. Then sighs again. He stops flustering the man.

It is close to morning, so he turns away and heads for his own diorama.

“It would please me to know you are writing again,” he calls over his shoulder. “Such talent shouldn’t go to waste.”

He doesn’t look back. There is no need to. He can feel Jedediah’s gaze boring a hole into his skull.

* * *

_Many nights later…_

Octavius has no idea how to court a potential life partner from the Old West. And attempting to learn through observation is not advantageous. So he decides to educate himself by journeying back to the library.

Gathering a handful of his best and brightest, he puts Tiberius back in charge. He will make a general out of that man yet.

Tiberius’s eyes are huge and round. Considering the chaos that erupted the last time he was put into a position of authority, he is visibly nervous. He bites his lip, but Marcus nods his confidence in him, so he stands a little straighter.

Octavius gives strict instructions that there will be no playdates while he is away. This is to lessen the chance of chaos erupting or tensions arising with their neighbors.

The Romans are to train, keep the peace, and be vigilant while he is gone. They are also to be especially wary of the Mayans. Octavius still does not trust them. He announces this while Assassin, also known as: Mr. Apple, tugs stubbornly on his paludamentum with his teeth.

Tail tucked, he backs in the opposite direction with all his might, insisting Octavius stay.

Whirling, Octavius grabs his paludamentum, sweeping it from the piglet’s mouth.

He has somehow inherited the shape-shifting, teleporting, Mayan assassin death pig. The spiteful little brute teleported over one night and appears to be a permanent fixture of Rome. That is unless Octavius visits the Old West and the little assassin teleports over, searching for him. Which he has done. On multiple occasions.

Marcus holds the animal so Octavius may leave with some dignity. The piglet squeals unhappily, its little legs air-paddling and flailing.

Octavius lifts his chin.

Assassin isn’t the only one vexed with him at present. As soon as Octavius announced he was taking a trip to the library, Jedediah became excited, bouncing up and down, clapping his gloved palms together, not realizing he wasn’t invited.

Octavius declined Jedediah’s company. The journey was for he and his men. Alone. Jedediah did not take it well. The moment Jedediah speared him with a wounded gaze, Octavius knew he blundered.

Needless to say, Jedediah is not happy.

Jedediah stomped off in a huff deep into the Old West, taking the hellbeast with him. He insists he’s camping. By himself. No Romans allowed. He’s packed some broken-up fencing, his leather rucksack, journal, and his trusty rocks, and is adamant he’s going to have a _“swell”_ time and Octavius _“ain’t”_ invited, _“dad-gum-it!”_

He also stated, adamantly and with some passion, that Octavius could bite his big toe.

Even Baby has her skull tilted, rumbling her upset at Octavius. She lets out a heartsick rumble.

Emotional, she lets loose a barking hiccup. The Romans in the Coliseum shriek as the arena is momentarily swept into a windstorm.

Octavius peers up at Baby. She continues mewling over the apparent fight and permanent separation of her parents.

Still hiccuping, she is inconsolable.  

“Now, Poppet, your papa is being overly dramatic. There is no row,” he assures her.

He’s getting much better at interpreting her conversation through her varying sounds and body language.

She appears skeptical.

“I cannot very well surprise him if he’s standing beside me whilst I make preparations for another future proposal!”

Baby stops hiccuping and tilts her head to the other side, focusing her eyeless sockets on him.

Jaw quivering, she rumbles an inquiry.

Octavius lifts his head grandly.

“Correct. I am having a machete made for him. And Felix must have the proper design specifications in order to create the finest in the land.”

The machete is a gift Octavius wishes to present to Jedediah on their wedding night.

Octavius knows that glorious moment is worlds away, but it's getting closer with every breath. He wishes to be prepared in case one of his spontaneous marriage proposals is accepted.

He is a planner, preferring structure. He likes to be prepared for any and all eventualities.

Baby shifts her focus to Felix.

She tilts her snout, curious. Then she sniffs. Felix’s brand new helmet is sucked forward, flying off the top of his skull.

The helmet crashes and clangs inside her nasal cavity, against her bones, rattling around inside her skeleton.

At last, the helmet drops, the remains smashing into a crumpled heap on the floor below.

Felix trembles.

His eyes are impossibly wide and he’s breathing in short, rapid breaths of both indignation and terror. He looks faint, but he bows respectfully. Bending at the waist, he offers a Roman salute to his future empress.

Baby turns her attention back to her father. She chitters, making an uncomfortable sound before darting her skull in the direction of the Old West.

She is hesitant.

Of the pair of them, Jedediah has swiftly become the disciplinarian. She has no wish to get in trouble and wind up with her nose against the wall again. Jedediah’s parenting style is fair, but after Baby pushed Octavius with such force that he lost consciousness, Jedediah is justifiably strict in some matters. And right now he’s in a mood. She has no desire to antagonize him.

If Jedediah drank alcohol, Octavius is certain he would have swiped a bottle of moonshine and a harmonica. That way he could pen another horrendous Western power ballad to go along with his current perturbed state about how Romans are mean and libraries “ _ain’t_ ” **_that_** great.

Hands fisted at his waist, Octavius sighs. He toes the ground with his sandaled foot.

“You are not taking sides, my heart,” he assures her.

Her rumbling tells him she isn’t quite so certain.

Octavius arches an eyebrow. “Do you, or do you not, wish your parents together?”

Baby’s answer is immediate. She bobs her massive head like a bird.

“Then assist me in courting him in true Western fashion,” Octavius declares. “Transport us to the library. I am ignorant of the proper etiquette involved in American courtship.”

At this, Baby’s jaws part in excitement.  

She makes a series of soft, throaty cooing noises, fanning her tail back and forth.

The Mayans shout as their sacred temple fire is blown out. They shake their fists. The warriors are too intelligent to blow darts at her.

Still.

Octavius peers around her to arch an authoritative eyebrow at them, and they settle down.

Baby ignores the Mayans and gives Octavius an impatient eyeless glance.

Eagerly, she bends forward into the Roman diorama and opens her jaws wide in a happy dinosaur grin.

Rumbling, she invites Octavius and his men to hitch a ride within her maw.

The men peer at him nervously. He nods at them. “It’s perfectly alright, gentlemen.” He clasps his hands behind his back. “She’s my daughter.”

A breathless sound escapes Lucius. He jerks back. “First a son. Now a daughter. There has been another heir born of the union between the Americas and our great Empire, my liege?” he asks for clarification.

Octavius shakes his head. “Same heir,” he states proudly. He looks at his child and smiles. “She is exploring her options.”  

Baby rumbles happily. She bobs her head up and down, causing the marble ledge to creak and groan under the weight of her skull.

The Romans stare blankly, cocking their heads to the side.

* * *

_Same night, many hours later…_

Octavius rolls on his back. His research has him spent. Wide-eyed, he stares up at the library’s ceiling.

“Chaperones,” he says, a shaky hand over his eyes. “Why must there be chaperones?”

* * *

_Later that same night…_

Octavius has no idea what happened, but his educational sabbatical comes to a halt sooner than he planned.

The lights both in and outside of the library, and even the exterior lighting have all been extinguished abruptly.

He can hear the sounds of chaos outside the room, and then even outside the building.

The shouts inside the museum are chaos, but it’s almost a controlled chaos. There are roars from Africa. The Anubis warriors are grumbling and clicking their throats.

There are even answering calls deeper inside the building, but after so many decades, these noises are so commonplace they are barely of import.

It’s the noises outside of the museum that are shocking and what sets his skin crawling.

The volume is so loud.

And, terrifying.

The mechanisms inside the building are all dead, and he’s hearing the exterior sounds for the first time.

He’s never heard such horrendous, earth-shattering commotion outside of battle. It forces him to ponder what kind of world they exist in within this age, and what kinds of horrors await them.

There are war horns blaring, and monsters squealing, and human voices shouting intermittently.

Cursing, bitter, hateful words like Octavius has never heard before is being yelled outside. Angry, enraged voices are lifted up into the night, and more battle horns bellow, and more squealing monsters roar, then there’s more shouting.

Revolving lights shine through the windows, and with it come high-pitched, whistling alarms.

The library’s windows vibrate as something massive — larger than Baby — rumbles its way past outside.

Trembling, Octavius curls in on himself. He peers over, and his men are doing the same. Even Baby shivers at the rage in men’s voices. She tucks her head behind a bookcase.

Octavius jerks at bellowing shouts. Each new abusive epithet hurled between giants has him fervently wishing Jedediah were here.

Here with him at the end of this world.

Inside the museum, Octavius listens as Cecil and Gus discuss the situation amongst themselves. Their voices are pitched low. Surprisingly, they are answered by a much deeper voice, one Octavius has never heard before.

Terms like _“black-out”_ and _“power outage”_ and _“the stoplight’s out, too,”_ and _“where did you store the backup generator?”_ are all being flung about willy-nilly, but these are foreign words, and Octavius has no point of reference.

The stranger with the deep voice strides past the library doors, which were left ajar at Baby’s entrance.

The man appears middle-aged and of African descent. His uniform is different, lighter, not like Cecil’s and Gus’s.

A magic black box at the man’s hip makes crackling-popping noises. It is followed by a high-pitched squealing. And then Cecil’s voice is lifted from the box.

 _“Looks like it’s affecting a pretty big area,”_ Cecil’s voice says. His voice is tinny and sounds tired. _“Called it in. But they’re saying it’s going to take a while. Looks like we need to keep our winning attitudes and stay frosty. It’s our job to keep everyone calm._

_“Oh, boy._

_“It’s going to be a long night.”_

Gus’s voice manifests from the blackness, grumpy as usual.

Hopping down from the bookshelf, Octavius orders his men and Baby to stay where they are.

Paludamentum swirling, he follows the hollow-out voices.

Quickly power climbing the stairs to the first floor, he observes the diminutive giant standing by a window, pulling back a thick, but flimsy barrier to watch the goings-on outside.

Huffing, Gus lets out an impatient breath. He brings an identical black box to his mouth.

“What a bunch of weirdies! I’ll beat ‘em with my fist!” he snaps, feisty and grumbly at the same time. “One little stoplight goes out and these here patty cakes think it's the end of the world! Learn to drive, dingleberries!”

Cecil answers, more reasonable. _“Now, Gus…”_

Ignoring him, Gus grumbles some more, banging his fist against the glass. “Hey, you! Corkscrews!” he calls to the giants outside. “I once went nine rounds with John L. Sullivan!”

Cecil audibly sighs over the black box. _“You never —”_

“Fruit loops, I tell ya! They’re all a bunch of fruit loops!”

He sounds precisely like Jedediah when he’s fired up.

Octavius feels a hollow ache in his chest at the thought, missing him.

The nightguards’ voices intermingle and echo down the hallway.  

Beams of light flare, bouncing off the walls, as the guards attempt to keep the shenanigans inside the museum down to a minimum.

Octavius follows the beams past the door, silent as a puff of smoke.

Keeping the peace doesn’t appear to be a problem at this juncture. The much larger exhibits are staying quiet.

Octavius can just make out the Huns at the end of the hall. They are huddled together. Grimacing, they hold their palms over their ears. They are afraid of the noises outside, too.

Cocking his head, Octavius peeks around a corner, believing he hears Gus loudly blame Dexter for their troubles.

The new man defends the Capuchin: _“Oh, he can’t be_ **_that_ ** _bad.”_

Cecil gives an edgy laugh and comes back with: _“You haven’t met Dexter. Keep a close eye on your keys, son.”_

When there is a lull in conversation, Octavius backs against the wall, staring blankly in wide-eyed shock.

Then he gathers up his nerve and takes a calming breath.

“Right.”

With confidence he doesn’t feel, he whirls.

He vaults back down the stairs and sprints down the hall to the library door. There he commands his daughter and his men to attention.

“We must return home at once.”

He must know his people are safe.

And if they aren’t…

Blood drains from his face.

His breathing quickens past the growing constriction in his throat.

The thought is almost too much to bear.

They all flinch when they hear a loud squeal, and then an enormous crash outside the museum, followed by more blaring horns.

They quickly retreat and make their way back to the _Hall of Miniatures._

Afraid of what he may find, Octavius’s thoughts circle and zigzag the entire way home.

* * *

_Minutes later…_

It would appear the lights have been extinguished everywhere.

Octavius sees sparks fly as rocks are struck together by the Neanderthals in their steadfast quest for fire, and watches as various exhibits fumble their way around in the dark.

He gives them all very little mind.

* * *

_Seconds later..._

Octavius is finally able to breathe. The cold knot of fear unravels itself in the pit of his stomach. His shoulders slump as relief soars.

The hall is quiet.

Peaceful.

Miraculously, the _Hall of Miniatures_ has been largely unaffected by the abrupt darkness and the chaos erupting outside.

He is grateful the terrible noises are muffled here.

The others haven’t heard a thing and have remained blissfully ignorant of the upheaval.

The one unusual side effect is the _“power outage”_ has forced all three dioramas into night.

The sacred flame from the Mayan temple burns high. There is crude dancing around the fire as the Mayans lift up their voices in song.

The Roman diorama is bathed in the warm glow of torchlight. From the vantage point of Baby’s maw, each lit torch moves with seemingly practiced choreography. The Roman people all look like ants scurrying through the city.

Beautiful orange lanterns have been hung throughout the Old West. The lanterns are marvelous and glow with a soft, soothing light. Delicate in appearance, they have been constructed with a distinctly Asian flare.

It also appears like the saloon is doing a steady business. Even at a distance Octavius can hear the hoots and hollers from the various members of the Old West. And it is difficult to ignore the horrendous piano music coming from behind its half-constructed swinging doors.

It is still a good deal better than the squealing, rumbling, and cursing coming from outside.

Those not patrons in the saloon are out in the street, stumbling around, and hanging onto one another for support. It isn’t out and out chaos, but it is clearly a celebratory night in the Old West.

Octavius shakes his head. Any opportunity to cease work on the railroad, and the Americans are there, ready to party. Not that Octavius truly blames them.

Jedediah has lost all interest in the railroad’s construction. He never lifts a finger to help anymore. It is his way of halting progress and, in turn, slowing down Manifest Destiny.

Even if history has already decided its inevitable outcome.

Off in the distance, an extremely long stretch away from town, is a single golden glow from a campfire.

_Jedediah._

Octavius’s control is finally at its slipping point.

He shudders.

Chin quivering, he wants to vomit and break down and cry, so relieved is he that everyone is alright.

That he has lost no one.

He doesn’t do these things, of course.

After swiftly returning his soldiers to the Roman diorama, Octavius requests Baby place him down in the Old West several paces away from the soft glow.

Baby complies gently and Octavius vaults from her mouth.

It takes everything he has not to immediately fly to Jedediah’s side.

He pauses long enough to praise Baby for being brave, thanking her for all of her help.

Then back straight, gaze superior, he marches forth like a true Roman.

And then he is running.

Then marching.

He’s back to running.

Pumping his fists in agitation, he’s marching now, slowing his pace to a crawl.

Forcibly, he tamps down on his emotions and tries to place his traumatic experience in the back of his mind.

It is over now. Done. No need to dwell.

He draws in a breath and peers up into the night sky.

Since the lights are out everywhere in the museum, the magic that pervades its walls is growing stronger, bringing everything further to life.

Stars twinkle high overhead.

Octavius pauses to marvel over the unfamiliar constellations and watch the trail of a falling comet.

He’s never seen the night sky here before. Not in Rome, nor in the Old West. It has always been day. All night, every night, it is daytime.

The night’s sky is truly spectacular to behold.

Peaceful. Quiet. And, that’s it. Peaceful and quiet.

Octavius frowns. There isn’t a hoot of an owl or the howl of a wolf. Nor is there the sounds of insects flitting about.

It brings into sharp focus that this place is artificial. And yet, it is alive and breathing by some magic Octavius does not understand.

And just as he notices there is nothing, there is something.

A veritable nighttime symphony of buzzing, whirring, and chirping insect noise awakens around him. An owl hoots.

He turns in a full circle in awe of the living noises.

Arms lifted, he spins and laughs, reveling in the nighttime sounds.

* * *

_Minutes later..._

To say the miraculous night and Jedediah are rivals for Octavius’s attention is a little extreme.  

There is no competition.

Where the night has stars that glitter and twinkle like diamonds, Jedediah’s skin is illuminated in a pale golden glow from the fire.

Light. Then darkness.

Both light and shadow play on his face, against the shine of his stubble, his hair reflecting back the dying embers of the campfire.

No. There is no competition at all.

Octavius crouches low.

Jedediah is asleep and curled into a ball, completely unaffected by the night’s events.

Sweet Pea rests near him, but at Octavius and Baby’s arrival, she startles awake. She whickers softly in greeting.

Octavius takes a moment to pat her before moving back to his beloved’s side.

It would appear Jedediah had been writing in his journal before he fell asleep. It lies beside him now, discarded, writing instruments on the ground, the journal’s pages rippling with a soft breeze that blows in through the diorama.

Without reading the latest entry, Octavius collects the journal, closes it, and places it in Jedediah’s satchel along with his writing supplies for safekeeping.

He considers waking Jedediah in order to regale him with the tale of his harrowing “adventure”and watch Jedediah’s face light up when he witnesses the diorama come even more alive around them. Permit him to see the stars up above. The fireflies lighting up and floating along on the breeze. He recalls Jedediah mentioning he missed them once.

It’s a struggle, but ultimately, he refrains.

He allows Jedediah his rest and for him to remain ignorant of the chaos outside that created the twinkling night.

And Octavius is still regaining his bearings. He peers down at his palms. There is a slight tremor in his hands, but he’s beginning to feel safe again now that he’s here.

He tilts his head, watching Jedediah's soft exhalations for a moment, the slow rise of his chest and the even release of breath.

The Stetson has tipped off his head and is laying on its side. He observes as strands lift with each small breeze that blows through the Old West.

The sight moves Octavius.

“Don't go. Don't ever go.”

Octavius’s words are somewhat nonsensical considering it was Octavius who left, but it sums up his anxieties quite nicely.

Sweeping the strands from Jedediah’s forehead, he leans forward and lightly presses his lips to Jedediah's temple. A feather soft kiss.

According to Octavius’s research, kissing and courting are both referred to as “sparking” in Jedediah’s time period. Octavius finds this term uncommonly sweet.  

He wishes to do all manner of sparking with Jedediah.

Jedediah shivers. The air temperature has dipped somewhat while Octavius was lost in the magic of the night.

Octavius unclasps his paludamentum from his shoulders and gallantly wraps it around Jedediah’s sleeping form.

Jedediah inhales deeply and frowns in his sleep. “O-Ockie?”

Octavius answers, “I’m here.”

A smile touches Jedediah’s lips. He pulls the paludamentum a little tighter around himself, snuggling into it, settling the material high against his throat, humming softly.

Mesmerized, Octavius studies him. At last, he whispers simply, “I love you.”

He hasn’t the courage to speak these words aloud when Jedediah is awake, but he can say them now.

Jedediah hums softly again. A small smile curls his lips. It is sincere and heartachingly beautiful. He curls into an even tighter ball, mumbling. “I love...too.”

Emotions chase across Octavius’s heart. “I know.” _Because it’s true._ “Rest. All is well.” He pauses to think about whether or not he is lying. “Now,” he corrects himself. “All is well, now.”

“...‘kay.”

Settling in for the night, he lies down beside Jedediah.

He is followed by Baby.

Needing comfort after her own ordeal, she lies her massive head down next to her sister, mewling quietly.

The two touch snouts.

The hellbeast thumps her tail drowsily before returning to sleep.

Relaxing, Octavius’s gaze drifts shut.

Hearing a grunting oink, his eyes instantly snaps open. He lifts his head, eyes wide in the darkness.

Out of the blackness the beaded Mayan assassin death pig materializes. He has teleported his way into the Old West and is waddling excitedly over to the happy family. His tail wags uncontrollably.

The piglet sidles over and leans his weight against Octavius, then turns in five complete circles, creating a nest for himself on the ground.

With a grunt, Assassin sprawls over on his side, content.

His tail is still wagging.

Arm lifted, Octavius stares down at the piglet in horror. He doesn’t want to know. He truly does not. So he closes his eyes a second time and begins counting to ten when he feels Jedediah shift, seeking him in his sleep.

Jedediah pulls Octavius against him, and Octavius makes an involuntary little gasp, spine melting instantly.

It would appear everything Jedediah overthinks when he’s awake comes naturally for him in sleep. Even down to how to interlock both of their legs in this position.

There is no doubt about it. Despite his history and the circumstances that led to him being wary of touch, Jedediah is a cuddler.

The revelation makes Octavius happy. He laughs softly.

It is certainly an adjustment, being held this way. In every physical encounter, he has been the dominant partner. Always. Roman laws and customs demanded it.

Being held this way is strange, foreign, and most assuredly an interesting deviation from tradition. He doesn’t know what he feels about this. Having taken the submissive sleeping position with Jedediah before, he hadn’t realized that it had the potential to form into a habit.

However, Octavius will not complain.

He will not dwell.

Not tonight.

If taking the submissive sleeping role will permit this closeness to continue indefinitely, then he will adapt.

He _will_ adapt.

Jedediah mumbles incoherently and tugs at the paludamentum, wrapping it half around them both.

Pulling them closer, he tosses his arm around Octavius’s torso. He squeezes, hand sliding down past his armor-plated stomach to hover dangerously close to uncharted territory.

A delightful shiver runs through Octavius’s belly at this new development.

Ordinarily, bearing witness to such an unconscious slip would be thrilling. After the night he’s had, he simply desires to be held.

Before the most intimate part of him has a chance to contradict him, he takes Jedediah’s palm, lifts it, examining it a moment before bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss on the back of Jedediah’s gloved hand.

Even with one half of the partnership deeply asleep and his fingers covered in leather, they still manage to spark.

Intertwining their fingers, Octavius slows his breathing and guides Jedediah’s hand back up to rest just above his heart.

There he disentangles their fingers and covers Jedediah’s hand with his own, patting it gently.

“All is well.”

His fingertips skim back and forth across a blue sleeve, and then his fingers wrap around Jedediah’s forearm.

It is not long before they are breathing in sync and Octavius drifts off to sleep.

* * *

_Many nights later…_

Not every night is a good night. Nor is every bad night strictly one of Jedediah’s bad ones.

Jedediah is not the only one who is insecure or has been left adrift by terrible memories of the past. Octavius has his own fair share of traumas and insecurities to work through.

This night finds the Romans visiting the Americans once again. It isn’t so much a playdate as well as — well, an actual visit.

As time passes, the reasons for intermingling become less and less of an excuse and more of simple every-night occurrences.

The Mayans are still an untrustworthy bunch in Octavius’s estimation, but for the most part they behave themselves. Mostly.

They still go on hunts, bringing back their spoils which could have proven to be threats to the miniatures: spiders, roaches, snakes, scorpions, and other predators that tend to prey on smaller creatures.  

Then again, the Mayans cursed Octavius and Jedediah with a death pig. So, there’s that.

Jedediah is currently reclined back in a chair holding up a reflective, shiny piece of a war torn battle shield to his face.

Octavius expounded in great length, waxing poetic on the virtues and beauty of pale skin and how it was a very Roman preference in a romantic partner.

So Jedediah is attempting to “sun” himself, working on his tan.

Octavius exhales and watches the death pig scampering about, playing on the floor with the Mayans.

Most of the Mayans have also gathered on the floor, milling around, causing the Roman sentinels to remain on high alert and elevating Octavius’s blood pressure.

Assassin snorts and grunts, finding a chew toy in something large and white, stuck under one of the legs of the atrocious bench. He tugs at it stubbornly, head bobbing and twisting, squealing for help.

Octavius sighs.

Pursing his lips, he waves his hand, and the Romans gather, forming an assembly line to not only help dislodge the object, but to carry the item up the side of the Old West diorama.

It is some kind of shiny piece of paper.

As it is passed along the ranks, the Mayans crane their necks forward to see what it is. The crowd does a double take. Hands to their mouths, they point, laughing.

That reaction seems ominous, but Octavius is just curious enough to want to know what has everyone so fascinated.

He enjoys learning new things, and he is intrigued by technology and different ways modern people acquire information.

Octavius discovered a newspaper once, and Jedediah had to pry him loose of the pages. He read the newspaper from cover to cover.

It was glorious.

And after…

He’d barraged Jedediah with questions. Many of them Jedediah couldn't answer such as: _“What's a movie? What's a mortgage? What’s the Big Apple? What is the GOP? What is Falcon Crest?”_

He came across an advertisement selling men’s modern undergarments and that is where Jedediah drew the line.

The men were wearing nothing but undergarments. Skimpy undergarments. Undergarments as far as the eye could see. And Octavius could see far. And so could the rest of the miniatures.

So much delightfully exposed skin. All skin tones. Lots and lots of skin tones. Miles and miles of manly flesh.

Gasps were heard. Mayans whooped. Western eyes were immediately covered. Some puritan Americans grew faint, instantly traumatized.

Tilting his Stetson down over his eyes in embarrassment, Jedediah eventually had to lift Octavius high over his shoulder before he would let go of his prize.

Octavius might have gotten overstimulated.

Kicking his legs, he pointed, hand outstretched.

 _“But Jedediah. Look!  Speedos!”_ He gasped. “ _They sell blue ones! By the gods! They were made for you. Your hair. Your eyes. That build.  I must acquire them. They are an investment. Speedos. Speedos, Jedediah!_ **_Speed—dos!”_ **

Jedediah stands beside him now. Hip cocked, he grips his belt with a pensive look on his face.

Octavius knows that look. He peers over, expecting  Jedediah to provide the answers.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Jedediah shrugs. His voice takes on a peculiar timbre. “It’s just a wall pamphlet, Oct.”

Octavius's brow arches. He peers at the pamphlet curiously. Then he mirrors the Mayans’ response and does a double take.

It’s them. Only _not_ them.

Jedediah has attempted to explain photographs. And Octavius has seen pictures in books and the newspaper, and, of course: advertisements. However,  he’s looking down at photos of the dioramas taken during the day.

Of them.

He’s never seen what they look like before.

On the front of the pamphlet is a picture of his army. He can pick out individual likenesses, putting names to artificial faces. They stand at attention, their line formation is nearly perfect.  Pride runs through Octavius. They are an envy.  

Octavius palms the shiny page. It is slick in his hand, the pages being thicker than normal paper and twice as heavy.

With effort, he turns the page, and there is Jedediah looking ruggedly handsome as always. His arms are crossed and his Stetson is down over his eyes. Quite lovely. The only thing that could improve his likeness is if he were roving the Old West in nothing but a pair of speedos.

Octavius is working on that.

Down on the corner of the page is a date. _Copyright 1981_.

Octavius lifts his head and does a quick mental calculation. Jedediah is one hundred and eighty-two years old. In Octavius’s biased estimation, Jedediah is catching up to him.

“Curious.”

And then Octavius turns the page, and wishes he hadn’t.

Octavius staggers to his feet, jumping like a startled feline.

He shudders and lowers his head.

His face twists in disgust. At his own face. Twisted. Bloated. His eyes uncommonly large. One side of his face is entirely lopsided.

With a lost expression, he forces himself to breathe normally.

“Right,” he says quietly, and walks away.

Mortification adds a bright flush to Octavius’s cheeks and a growing sense of panic seizes him. He’s finding it a little difficult to breathe again.

Hand to his mouth, he stares straight. Walking straight.

He is hideous. Utterly and absolutely. Hideous.

In a daze, he walks.

He keeps up his pace until he feels a tug on his arm.

Glancing over, he sees Jedediah. He’s panting, attempting to catch his breath. He leans his palms on his knees, bending forward. “Oct...”

Octavius keeps walking.

The next sensation Octavius feels is Jedediah tugging on his arm again. This time Jedediah is squinting at him.

Octavius really wishes Jedediah wouldn’t look at him so closely.

He frowns, realizing it cannot be helped; he cannot dictate Jedediah's actions.

So he keeps his eyes forward, and continues walking.

“Ya look much better in person,” Jedediah calls after him.

Jedediah’s appraisal of him snaps Octavius out of his daze. He squeaks with offended pride, feeling warmth spread, flushing his cheeks an even darker hue.

He refuses to say anything.

Jedediah jogs to catch up. He lifts his eyebrows, then lifts his palms in a placating gesture. “Honest. A picture can’t do ya justice. Really.”

Wild gibbering replaces Octavius’s normal distinctive speech. He stomps off.

Embarrassment makes his voice sharp as he calls over his shoulder, “You once told me I looked _goofy_. You were right!”

Jedediah turns his Stetson around and around in his hands. “I said your likeness was goofy. Not _you_!”

Octavius harrumphs once, flailing his arms.  He shakes his head dismissively.

Jedediah stops spinning his hat and smacks it against his thigh, following after him at a respectful distance.

* * *

_A little while later..._

“You gonna stop marchin’ anytime soon?” Jedediah calls at Octavius’s back.

“No.”

“Alrighty,” Jedediah says with a sigh. There is silence, and then: “Ya know. For a man weighed down by all that metal, you sure can move when ya wanna.”

Octavius straightens his spine. He stops in his tracks. “I am a man…” He pauses for effect, and to catch his breath. “...on a mission.” Hands braced on his hips, he scans the area, breathing fast.

Jedediah sidles up to him.

“Uh-huh.” Hands in his pockets, he asks, “And just what is that mission, exactly?”

Octavius lifts his chin grandly. “I am going to find the Huns and entice them to devour every single one of the pamphlets.”

“Uh-huh,” Jedediah says again. “Well, ya went the wrong way, genius.” He waves his hand behind him. “You might want to turn around and head out the way ya came.”

Octavius turns to him. He takes a moment to observe his surroundings.

They are deep in the Old West, further than Octavius has ever traveled, surrounded by a multitude of rock formations.

There is no civilization in sight. No color; only varying degrees of tan and brown.

“Oh.” He turns toward the direction of town and squares his shoulders. “Right!”

Jedediah rubs at his own neck again. He cocks his hip, thumbs hooking around his belt loops. The wind picks up, blowing Jedediah’s flimsy excuse for a shirt.

A strand of blond hair lifts from his face, the breeze causing it to curl in invitation.

Octavius narrows his eyes.

Even the wind mocks him. The breeze attempts to lift his pteruges, but he stubbornly holds them in place. “Odious wind! Stop, I say!”

“You really don’t look all that bad,” Jedediah says quietly.

Octavius harrumphs, and begins his march back to town. He rolls his eyes. “Words are not your strong suit at present, my heart. I would advise silence.”

Jedediah remains persistent.

“So what if the sculptors got it wrong and you’re a hot mess during the day?” He calls after Octavius. “Stop being such a baby about this! They got my entire history wrong here. Remember?”

Octavius whirls.

“I am not being an infant, Jedediah! It’s a wonder how you can even stand to look at me. Or, that you do not shudder when I touch you. Especially since I am constantly attempting to lure you to my bed.”

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud!” Jedediah spreads his arms wide. “I used ta’ wear my hair long on one side so others wouldn’t see my dad-blame face and go running, screamin’ for the hills! What do you think that made me?” His voice rises a few octaves. “A monster? Because I wasn’t!”

Fists clenched, nails digging into his own palms, Octavius arches an eyebrow, but inwardly he flinches. For a second time, Jedediah snaps him out of his mortification.

They watch each other silently for a long moment.

Octavius lowers his eyes. He should apologize, but he cannot.

“People were mean, Oct.”

The warble in that beloved voice cuts through Octavius’s stubbornness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Jedediah kicks up dust. He whirls in one direction, but then he’s a bundle of energy and he whirls in the opposite direction, hands resting on his waist.

He isn’t finished, rounding on Octavius again.

“Trust me, Octavius, what’s goin’ on with the inside of a person means more to me than how someone looks on the outside!”

Eye contact gets dangerously intense for a moment.

Octavius is the one to look away first. He stands there feeling helpless, bitter, angry, afraid, torn, embarrassed, and incredibly stupid. He bites his lip. Mostly, he feels ashamed by his flight and subsequent outburst.

He knows better. On many levels, he knows better.

Jedediah edges closer. “Ya look fine,” he reassures quietly. “Okay? Ya look good.”

Octavius exhales sharply. He glances down at the ground and nods.

“There ya go…” Jedediah says, smiling. His palms are raised placatingly, gentling him.

Octavius blinks at this realization. He stares at Jedediah’s gloved fingers.

Hesitantly, Jedediah reaches out his hand and clasps Octavius by the elbow.

Octavius glances down at the hand, and then brings his eyes up. He blinks slowly. Finally, he squints, tilting his head in a long, slow perusal.

Thoughtful, he finally observes aloud, “Your lips are the most delectable shade of pink.”

Jedediah sucks in a breath, eyes blown wide. His entire face colors, bottom lip poking out a fraction as the line of his mouth parts.

Then he huffs.

Angling his head in the most adorable, bashful gesture, he glances down at the dirt.

“There he is. That’s my boy.” Ignoring the blatant flirting, he brings his head up. He looks up from beneath his Stetson and asks, “Happy now?”

Octavius thinks about it. He shakes his head. “Not really, no,” he admits.

Jedediah’s mouth thins, back to looking unhappy. He jerks his chin. “Come on. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’. Let’s go find you a mirror.”

* * *

_Later..._

Jedediah pulls on Octavius’s arm, heading back the way they came.

Civilization in sight, he first leads him in one direction.

“The cathouse?” he says thoughtfully. He shakes his head, halts, and looks back at Octavius. “Nope.”

For his part, Octavius is still somewhat despondent, but he’s calmer.

He perks up as a light breeze lifts a wisp of Jedediah’s blond hair again. This time Octavius loses his frown long enough to appreciate it. He tilts his head to the side, thoroughly hypnotized by the errant strand.

Jedediah gives him a sharp glance. “Come on.”

Octavius is yanked in a large, leaping step, abruptly pulled in the opposite direction.

He does not know how long they walk, but they come to a building, weathered gray, and box-shaped. A shack.

The structure has a wooden signpost with a round knob on top. It is perched on the side of the building. A post twists in a spiral-shape. It’s painted red, white, and blue.

The sign reads: _Barber._

Jedediah pulls him up the stairs, boots clacking, to the wooden, screened-in door.

Octavius marvels at it a moment.

Jedediah opens the door. It creaks loudly at his entrance, and a little bell jingles overhead.

Startled, Octavius peers up. His lips part. He stares at this tiny contraption before he is yanked all the way inside and plopped down in a chair.

The chair is wrought iron and cushiony.

Octavius startles when it makes a hissing sound and his rump sinks down in the seat.

All at once, the chair spins, and Octavius lets out a yelp. He lifts his knees up, pulling them tight to his chest. “What is this apparatus?”

Jedediah huffs, and spins him again.

Knees still at his chest, Octavius braces himself on the armrests of the chair. “By the gods! My obsession with speedos has finally managed to send you round the bend. This is Bedlam and you’ve set me in a torture device!”

“Relax, will ya? You’re fine.”

Octavius spins, whipping his head to peer at Jedediah. “I am not fine! Jedediah, remove me from this blasted chair at once! It’s possessed!”

“It’s a barber’s chair, ya goof.  It’s where the menfolk come to get a shave and a hair cut. See?” He swings Octavius again.

Octavius feels like he may hyperventilate. The world spins out of control. His chest heaves, taking in giant gulps of air. “I feel dizzy.”

Jedediah smacks him on the arm with his hat. “Quit with your bellyachin’ and your Roman melodrama, ya big baby. I said you’re fine. Now take it like a man.”

Octavius forgets to breathe.

“And breathe, dad-gum-it!”

Octavius breathes. He inhales deeply, then coughs.

Jedediah does a quick double take, squinting. Tilting his head, he stares at Octavius for a long moment. “God, you’re tiny.”

Affronted, Octavius blinks up. “I beg your pardon!”

Jedediah waves his hand.

“You’re, like, all scrunched up. Fittin’ in that chair, the way ya are. You remind me of a little ol’ mouse I once saw. It was trapped inside this great big giant old barn. Door was closed, and the mouse was kinda pudgy. Ya wouldn't think it could get out, but it flattened itself out like a pancake, and it squeezed under, easy as you please.”

Frown lines crease Octavius’s forehead. He loses his panic for a moment. His brow arches. “What's a pancake?”

Jedediah cocks his head to the side, and blinks. He opens his mouth, hesitates, and then waves his hand. “Never mind. I'll make some for ya one day.”

Octavius frowns, replaying Jedediah’s earlier statement. Teeth bared, he enunciates. “I am not a rodent.”

Jedediah lifts his palms.

“And I’m certainly not _pudgy_ ,” Octavius grates out. “I barely eat at all!”

Exasperated, Jedediah leans his hands on each armrest so they are face-to-face, effectively trapping Octavius within the confines of the chair. The nearness causes Octavius to bang his helmeted-skull against the headrest.

“Listen. I ain’t makin’ disparaging remarks here. You’re all riled, and ya ain’t hearing a word I’m sayin’. At least not the way I’m tryin’ to say ‘em. What I’m tellin’ ya is that your highfalutin tin can kinda beefs you up, ya know? Makes you bulky.”

Octavius lifts his chin. He stares at Jedediah, unblinking. “My armor represents the ideal male form.”

Jedediah chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip. “Okay.” He thinks about it and shrugs. “No problemo. So, you're tinier than I thought you were. Not a big deal.”

Octavius pauses, stills, thinks it over. Slowly, he lifts his eyes. A frown tightens his face and creases his brow, but he relaxes slightly. His voice is calm.

“I’m average. And I don’t know how to take that remark.”

Jedediah waves his hand. “There ain’t no way ta’ take that remark ‘cause I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re fine.” He rises up, smacking Octavius’s knee. “Now put your knees down, sweet cheeks. Your bloomers are showin’.”

Octavius’s feet instantly hit the floor. He still clutches the arms of the chair for dear life, his fingernails leaving deep gouges in the leather.

“Easy,” Jedediah whispers. He removes his weight from the armrests, and spins Octavius around again. Much slower this time. “Now, look. The chair just swivels, see? It’s actually kinda fun once ya get the hang of it.”

By increments, Octavius relaxes his fingers, his nails no longer biting into the chair arms.

Jedediah smiles. “That’s it. Relax. It ain’t gonna bite ya,” he says, still swiveling the chair round and round. “And if it does, I’ll bite it back.”

Octavius takes a long steadying breath. He exhales.

“There ya go. Easy does it.”

Slowly, Octavius relaxes against the back of the chair, his helmeted-skull resting against the headrest.

He wiggles against the soft cushion of his seat.

“This is rather nice, actually.” He lifts his chin grandly. “I shall have one commissioned for Rome. It will be the envy of all the museum.”

Jedediah watches him with a thoughtful expression.

“Reckon, I should give ya the full tour.” He gives Octavius a sly look. His grin turns wolfish. “Now. This lever right here..." His eyes spark. "Sends you to Bedlam!” He jerks his arm.

Octavius screams as his world tilts out from under him.

His feet fly up over his head as the chair dips back.

* * *

_Later…_

After Jedediah is through having his fun, Octavius is righted, and sat back up.

Mouth pursed, he glowers at Jedediah, fingers back to clawing into the chair arms. His legs are stiff, sandaled feet resting on a wrought iron footrest.

Jedediah laughs. “You’re so adorable when you’re good and riled. Ya look like a teeny tiny king sittin’ on his teeny tiny throne, ready to send me off to get my head whacked off!”

Octavius scowls. He doesn’t blink. “I am.”

Huffing, Jedediah lifts his palms. “Okay, okay, I promise I won’t tilt ya back anymore. It was just so tempting. You’re so dad-blame cute when you’re dang near climbing the walls on me.”

“I freely admit to being cute.”

Jedediah huffs again. He snorts, rolling his eyes.

Octavius purses his lips. “I am also not amused.”

Raising his eyebrows, Jedediah rubs at the back of his neck. “Right,” he says quietly. “Okay. Yeah…”

He turns toward a long wooden table. His back to Octavius, he fiddles with the various items he finds there.

Octavius exhales.

He takes a moment to survey the room, peering this way and that. This place still appears like its sole purpose is to torture victims. It is rustic, old, and ill-kept, with a wicked-looking, silver, gleaming folding blade and —

“Darling?” He jerks his chin toward a jar. “Why are combs floating in blue liquid?”

Jedediah doesn’t turn around, busy. “Never you mind.”

Octavius blinks, sitting back further in his chair. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

At last, Jedediah turns around. His face is shadowed.

Octavius pushes back far enough in his chair that his helmet smacks against the headrest. He vows to never bring up the subject of speedos again. If he survives. It is an oath.

Leaning his weight against the side of the table, Jedediah rests the backs of his palms along the edge, legs crossed at the ankles.

“I came here to show ya something important.” He pushes off, sauntering from the table.

Octavius finds himself looking into a somewhat tarnished, upright mirror.

His jaw drops.

Slowly, Jedediah hitches his breeches up at the knees and crouches in front of him.

He unties the chin strap from Octavius’s helmet and lifts the bristled headgear off Octavius’s skull gently, and then pivots, hunkering down beside him so they can both peer into the mirror.

Octavius has caught refracted glimpses of himself in the metal of shined armor before, but it’s always been distorted. Lopsided. Much like his own likeness.

There were mirrors in Rome, but none here. As with the Americans being mismatched and out of their time, there are no mirrors in the Roman diorama at all.

Octavius lifts his hands to his face.

Blinking, he angles his jaw watching his reflection keep pace with him.

He opens his mouth in a half-grimace, looking at his white teeth. This pleases him, remembering his former dental history. His teeth are nearly perfect now.

Blinking, he realizes that he’s much younger than he expected. In his forties — possibly. Still older than Jedediah, but not by much.

“I’m younger here,” Octavius observes.

Jedediah frowns. “How old didja think you’d look.”

Octavius turns his face. He ponders for a moment, attempting to recall his own age, having never really thought about it until now.

Embarrassed, he says at last, “In my mid-seventies.”

His gaze flicks back.

Jedediah’s eyes bug out of their sockets. He looks incredulous.

“You’re forty years older than me?” His voice is very high-pitched. He squeaks. “You’re more than twice my age!”

Octavius pauses, shrugs.

Reasonably, he says, “Well. Not now.”

Jedediah sputters. His silent shock is palpable. He leans the side of his head against his palm, elbow resting against his knee. His lips are parted. He appears stupefied. Dumbstruck.

Speechless. Which is something.

Breaking eye contact, Octavius clears his throat. He peers once more into the mirror and changes the subject. “This is what I look like?”

Jedediah snaps his mouth shut. After a beat, his shock lessens enough where he can focus. “Not too shabby, huh?” He shrugs. “For an old man.”

“I’m not old anymore.”

“A dirty, cradle-snatchin’ old man.”

Octavius furrows his brow. He is appalled. “I bathe. And I’ve never stolen a cradle in my entire life.”

Jedediah’s eyes are alight with good humor.

“It’s an expression,” he explains, voice low. “It’s when someone is much older than the person they’re chasin’ after. Like, in the romantic sense. Sparkin’. They call it: robbin’ the cradle. Or cradle snatchin’.” He waves his hand. “You’ve lived an entire lifetime more than me. I’m just a baby compared to you.”

“As you are so fond of reminding me, you’re thirty-two years old. Hardly an infant. And certainly of age. In any age.”

Jedediah snorts, still finding humor in the situation. He lifts his head high. “Whatever ya say, old-timer.”

“Had you been alive in the 1860’s, you would be, at the very least, sixty-three,” Octavius counters.

Jedediah squints. He blinks. His face twists. “You’ve thought about this...”

It’s both a statement and a question.

Instead of acknowledging Jedediah’s words, Octavius’s gaze returns to the mirror. “My hair is brown.” This, he’s already known. It’s very different from knowing a fact and being presented with it.

He shifts his eyes over to Jedediah. “It used to be blond.”

Squinting again, Jedediah angles his head. He clasps his fingers together in front of him, elbows on his knees, and peers at him through the mirror.

“I can’t picture ya with blond hair.” He folds his arms, still crouched. “Dark brown’s a good color on ya, though. So’ins ya know. S’nice. I like it.” Shrugging, he adds, “Better than snow-white, I reckon.”

Octavius returns his attention to the mirror. He flicks his gaze. His eyes are deep, dark pools. Fathomless. “And my eyes were blue. Before.”

Piercing. Ice cold. And, guarded. He keeps that to himself.

Jedediah lifts his palms. “Hey, come on! I ain’t bein’ your dad-gum twin here! It’s bad enough knowing you’re old enough to be my granddaddy!”

Octavius flicks his gaze, annoyed. He inhales deeply, and then exhales sharply.

“Your eyes are dark brown,” Jedediah says emphatically, pointing his index finger at each spoken word. “They’ve been dark brown ever since I’ve known ya. They’re dark and mysterious and expressive, and I like ‘em that way. So deal.”

Mouth quirking, Octavius slides his eyes sideways. He’s known his eyes have been brown for some time. This, at least, reflective surfaces have shown him. There is a gleam in them now. His eye color is not as black as his adoptive father’s, but they are very dark.

It is now completely true, both literally and figuratively, that Octavius is darkness with stars in his eyes.

Octavius lifts his chin, proud. Jedediah has shown a preference. He likes them. Gaze twinkling, Octavius preens.

Nodding, he gives his approval. “My eyes are brown.”

Jedediah nods. He rolls his wrist. “Dark brown.”

Octavius lifts his chin higher. “And, I am not hideous.”

Jedediah laughs, slapping his own thigh. “Told ya!” He tilts his head teasingly. “But you’re still my boy. Still goofy.”

Octavius smiles with his eyes —  his dark brown eyes. He admires he and Jedediah’s reflection. They truly do complement one another rather well. “And you are handsome.”

Jedediah blinks into the mirror. He whips his gaze, squinting at Octavius.

“Um…yeah.”

No longer teasing, he furrows his brow.

He stands up too quickly. His eyes are stricken. He heads for the door.

The bell above the entrance jingles as he leaves without a word.  

The door closes behind him with a quiet _click_.

* * *

_Later…_

Once Octavius has managed to pry himself free of the miserable chair, he searches and finds Jedediah in the hills, pulling out what little vegetation that exists in the Old West.

Quietly, Octavius moves to sit beside him. He situates himself so his pteruges do not ride up when he bends down.

Jedediah doesn’t say a word, so Octavius watches him in silence for a long moment.

Biting his lip, he turns his head to stare at the scenery.

At last, he speaks out of the side of his mouth. “You are, you realize. Very handsome.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Octavius watches Jedediah’s expression twist. Jedediah does not look up from his plant homicide.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Octavius continues staring straight ahead. He swallows hard and with difficulty. “I am in earnest.” He turns his gaze.

“I’m _sure_ you are,” Jedediah says, eyebrows lifting. He jerks up a weed by the roots, then proceeds to rip it into pieces.

“You are angry.”

“I ain’t angry!” Jedediah’s raised voice and actions say differently.

“No, you’re furious with me.”

Jedediah averts his gaze, saying nothing.

“‘Diah...” Octavius begins. “You know I am attracted to you. I’ve made no effort to hide my interest for some time. I’ve been forthright in my regard. My observation shouldn't be a surprise to you by any stretch of the imagination.” He enunciates, lifting and lowering his arm with each word. “I am attracted to you. So therefore, you would be beautiful in my eyes.”

“Ya shouldn’t base your attraction ta’ me on my looks. Beauty fades.”

Octavius angles his head. He opens his mouth to argue.

“Beauty fades, Oct,” Jedediah repeats quietly. His voice is soft, but his tone is sharp. “A person ages. Or, they run afoul of the local wildlife or get into an accident. They could wind up ripping half their face off.”

Frown lines crease Octavius’s brow.

Jedediah twists around, bringing his knees up to his chest. “The point here, amigo, is that you shouldn’t be attracted to me by looks alone. You should like me for who I am. Because if that’s all this is —” He stops, closes his eyes.

Snapping them open, he begins again. “It should be based on more.” He points to his own face. “Cause I might not look like ya like me to look forever.”

Octavius’s mouth compresses. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, peering at Jedediah thoughtfully.  “What did you look like before?”

Jedediah slides intense and hardened eyes his way. “You know what I looked like. God awful. I’ve told ya often enough.”

“No.” Octavius shakes his head. “I meant your hair color. Your eyes.”

Jedediah loses his anger for a moment. “My eyes were a darker shade of blue. My hair was…” He takes a deep breath. “Longer.” Eyes darting, he looks down. “Light brown.” When he looks up, his expression is blank. “Not blond. Not like this.”

Octavius tilts his head. “I’m certain you looked magnificent.”

Despite himself, Jedediah gapes at him. “Oh, come on!” He sputters, incredulous. “You’re still flirting with me?” He huffs. “Oh my God! You don’t quit, do ya?”

Shrugging, Octavius smiles warmly. “Call it the persistence of an old man.”

Jedediah huffs again. They gaze at one another, caught in the moment, a cascade of emotions flitting across their faces.

Then Jedediah colors a delightful shade of pink and averts his eyes.

Growing serious, Octavius lifts a shoulder. “I won’t deny that I am attracted to your looks. But that isn’t what holds my interest.”

“Yeah. I know, I know. You wanna nail me.”

Octavius nods. “True.”

Jedediah chokes on air. He thumps his chest, covering it up with a laugh that is quickly muffled into a cough.

After taking a shaky breath, Octavius confesses. “I’ve been fascinated by you for as long as I can recall,” he says. “I light up at the sight of you. I’m happy whenever you are near. I find us compatible. And, I am a better man when I’m with you.”

“Except for the whole May-December romance thing you got going with me.”

“I don’t know that phrase, but I understand what you’re implying. And as long as we are both consenting adults —” Octavius blows out a breath. “I don’t see a problem.” He lifts his gaze. “Do you?”

Jedediah turns his head, studying him. His gaze is pensive. He doesn’t say anything.

“In my eyes, you are incredibly attractive,” Octavius declares. “Someone else may have a different opinion, but it is human nature to find one’s potential partner to be thus. But if you were injured, my first concern would not be for your looks.”

Jedediah shifts back and forth. Once again his arms are wrapped around his knees. He takes this all in quietly.

It is long moments before he replies. When he does, humor returns to his gaze.

“So, what would ya think if I up and decided to dye my hair?”

Octavius pauses to consider. He really likes Jedediah’s hair. Really, really likes it. “I would have to adjust.” His eyes rove. “What color are you thinking?”

Amusement flickers across Jedediah’s face. “Purple.”

Octavius rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He looks toward the heavens. “Jupiter, help us all.”

Jedediah laughs, young and wild and free. Bashful, he ducks his head and goes back to pulling at vegetation.

“I don’t mind ya being older. ‘Course, I never figured there’d be _that_ much of a gap. But well, I suppose if ya wanna get technical —” Jedediah lifts his shoulder “— I reckon you’re onto something and I _could_ be in my sixties. So, what are we talkin’ here? A ten year age difference?”

Octavius shrugs. “It’s our life, darling. It can be whatever we choose it to be. Let’s make it five.”

Jedediah pauses to consider. “How’s about three?”

Unhurried, Octavius thinks it over and nods. “I can live with that.”

After a while, Jedediah says, “I miss my hat. My _real_ hat.”

Octavius’s nose scrunches up at this decidedly random comment Jedediah has pulled from the air. He tilts his head.

Ever so slowly, he leans his head lightly on Jedediah’s shoulder and is pleased when he is not rebuffed. He lets out a soft sigh. “You’re my best friend. I would think you handsome _with_ or _without_ your hat.”

Jedediah turns his head.

Their mouths are very close to touching, necks craned in the origin of a kiss.

As though by mutual decision, they both ignore this fact and bump their foreheads together instead.

“That’s easy for you ta’ say, kemosabe,” Jedediah murmurs. “You ain’t never seen my hat.”

Octavius snorts softly. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he grins.

They watch the breeze flit over the Old West in companionable silence. There is the cawing of a bird and the whirring of insects.  

Jedediah cannot help but teach and inform. He’s traveled the Americas far and wide. This place matches no where on any map.

Apparently, those responsible for the exhibit’s creation have gotten even the topography wrong.

It proves to be no matter. In this whole new world, the one that’s been fabricated for them and the one they’re creating, it seems fitting. They are somewhere neither have traveled before.

They stay side by side like this for the rest of the night, with Octavius’s head resting on Jedediah’s shoulder and Jedediah torturing vegetation, talking quietly about everything and nothing, until dawn’s pull is too great and the morning calls them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you goes to my ever awesome beta, [CuriousDinosaur.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) You're focused, driven, and you never fail to make me laugh. You are a delight.


	21. Going Courtin', Part Four

_Weeks Later…_

This night finds Octavius visiting the Old West, a gift swinging within his grip. Since Jedediah has been writing again, he’s quickly run out of blank pages in his journal.

After much trial and error, Octavius and his men have been able to put their heads together and transform the scrolls of Octavius’s time period into rudimentary books.

It isn’t always easy or fun playing catch up with the world.

The pages tend to be a little thicker and rougher than the ones Octavius found in the library, but he and his men are still working out the kinks.

He carries one such book under his arm. It is Roman red and leather bound with an intricate design that has Jedediah’s initials branded into the front cover.

The book’s pages are empty, waiting to be filled with more of Jedediah’s thoughts on their latest adventures together.

And perhaps Jedediah’s evolving feelings for him.

Octavius is forever hopeful, having fully embraced the role of “Miss Polly Sunshine” on the matter. And Jedediah stopped passionately proclaiming to every single passerby that they were not married some time ago. So. _Progress!_

All silliness aside, according to the books Octavius has read on 1800’s courtship, this kind of progress is a good sign.

It is slow and sweet. Quiet and simple. And designed to not only encourage affection to grow and mature, but for it to endure.

Sparking is all about intent and pursuit. In fact, the joy is derived mainly from the pursuit.

If Jedediah were Roman, Octavius would believe his advances were unwanted and he would have moved on. This is not necessarily the case with American courtship. It is, at times, very confusing to his Roman sensibilities, but the best quote he could find on the subject matter relates to a relationship between a man and a woman.

And that is: _A man chases a woman until she catches him._

Granted, Jedediah isn’t a woman, but he is certainly playing hard to get. Octavius has to work for it. Surprisingly, he finds he enjoys this kind of courtship considerably more than when it was simply handed to him.

He also enjoys watching Jedediah’s resistance slowly wearing away over time. And he’s rather looking forward to the day Jedediah stops running, turns from the chase, and pounces on him.

It is Octavius’s hope that one day Jedediah’s scribblings about this time will be something to look back on with fond memory.

“Jedediah?” he calls, unable to suppress his giddiness.

He is extremely proud and confident of this gift. It is simple and practical. Small, but personal, with only enough intricate Roman flair as to reveal the identity of the gift giver. These kinds of non ostentatious gifts also adhere to 1800’s standards of courtship. He hopes Jedediah finds this new journal adequate.

“Jedediah!” he calls again.

Every once in awhile, he believes he hears a whisper of Jedediah’s voice on the wind, along with snatches of conversation.

He follows the voice to a canvas tent in and amongst the rest of the encampment. It isn’t a place he ventures often.  The only time he ever comes this far into the American settlement is when he is chasing after Jedediah during an intense debate. (He will not use the term: argument.)

Peering around, Octavius stands on tiptoes, glancing over various canvas tents, following Jedediah’s voice to one tent in particular.

He grips the gift in his hands and lifts his chin proudly.  

Just as he is striding toward the entrance, Octavius stops dead in his tracks.

Silas steps out from the canvas tent, shirt in hand.

“Much obliged.” He turns and calls back, “Thanks again, Jed.’’

Octavius is thunderstruck. He blinks, unbelieving what he’s seeing.

_Silas._

Half-dressed.

Emerging from a tent where Octavius has heard Jedediah’s voice and where Silas addressed Jedediah specifically.

Silas spots him and waves.

“Howdy neighbor!” Whistling, he throws his shirt over his shoulder with a wry smile before turning away.

Mouth dry, Octavius hurries over.

Opening the tent flap, he peeks his head inside. He finds Jedediah on his side, wrapped up tight in a blanket. His Stetson is off of his skull and his hair is disheveled.

At Octavius’s entrance, Jedediah sits up.

He whips his head, all smiles. His red neckerchief is off and the first two buttons of his flimsy blue shirt is undone.

His gloves are nowhere in sight.

Octavius's breath stalls in his lungs at the uncharacteristic impropriety. An instant later, his mind catches up with his eyes, adding two and two together.

His face burns.

Trying to speak, he finds his throat is too tight.

Jedediah’s brow furrows. “Oct —”

Octavius has been in this position before. From both sides. Many times. Only _before_ it never pierced his heart when he was on _this_ side of the tent. Not like this.

Nose scrunched, Jedediah tilts his head. He lifts his arm.

Octavius skitters backwards.

In his haste for retreat, he drops Jedediah’s brand new journal on the ground.

It lands with a loud _thump._

Confusion in those blue eyes, Jedediah looks down at the gift.

Only a flicker behind his eyes betrays his surprise and concern.

He slides his gaze from the journal to Octavius. “Oct?”

Octavius’s face twists. Rage causes his body to shake. He is unable to speak.

Filled with jealousy, he snarls, backing further from the tent.

“Oct!” Jedediah says in a shocked voice as he scrambles up.

Octavius turns, having his sights set on only one person, and that is the man striding through the encampment — whistling — as though he hasn’t just destroyed Octavius’s world.

His eyes blaze with cold, righteous fury.

Before Octavius realizes it, he is stalking forward. And then he is racing, arms pumping.

His paludamentum whips behind him like a trail of fire.

Silas glances over his shoulder, seeing him coming. He starts, and then takes off like a shot.

Octavius has never actually seen red before, but he’s seeing it now, as he lets loose a battle cry and takes a flying leap.

* * *

_Seconds later…_

He is grabbed by his paludamentum and jerked back.

“Octavius!”

Somewhere in the back of his brain, it registers that Jedediah has his arm slung over Octavius’s armor-plated chest, holding him back.

Silas holds out one of his palms. The other is cupping his nose. His eyes are wide. He smiles, but that placating grin is shallow, going no deeper than the surface of his skin.

Octavius is going to kill him.

“Whoa, there! Easy, compadre!” Silas’s words are muffled behind his hand.

Octavius lunges and Jedediah tugs him back by his shoulders.

“Octavius!’’ Jedediah shouts, pitching his voice sharply.

The voice finally cuts through the rage and Octavius whips his head.

He is immediately caught in Jedediah’s gaze. They say nothing.

Octavius’s feelings run too deep for speech.

He lifts his palm to cup Jedediah’s stubbled jaw, gaze going instantly vulnerable.

Then he sees the exposed column of throat. The undone buttons. The bare hands.

His soul shrieks.

Snarling, he twists back around, wanting nothing more than to behead Silas.

_Silas._

Silas with his perfect golden hair.

Octavius grits his teeth. His hair used to be blond.

Silas with the barrel chest and hazel eyes.

Octavius’s eyes used to be the purest blue. He used to be so much more than attractive. Even from an early age it had been remarked upon by others. He had been a beautiful child. A breathtaking youth. A handsome man. He had no want for admirers.

Now he’s been relegated to mere scraps of affection. Innocent flirting. The most innocent flirting he’s ever engaged in. Because he vowed to wait. To be patient and slow. Believing he was having a positive impact on a damaged, but much-loved soul.

He glares up at Silas.

Trembling, Octavius undoes the chin strap of his helmet and yanks it off.

It is flung, bouncing on the ground with a loud metal _clang._

Before he knows it, he sees his fist lift and he’s lunging for Silas again, letting loose a string of vindictive Latin.

Jedediah grabs him, pulling him back, holding him still.

“Sshh. Baby. Come on,” he says. “Come on back. It ain’t whatcha think.”

“Lies!” Octavius wiggles, fighting the grip. “Release me at once!”

Jedediah backs up a step, taking Octavius with him. He jerks his arm back, giving Octavius a firm shake. “Not until ya calm down.”

Octavius feels acute pain in his knuckles and winces. He peers down. What he sees shocks him. He hadn’t realized he’d struck his mark. One solid strike. His arm aches from the swing. It had been a savage blow.

He glowers up at Silas and realizes belatedly why Silas is cupping his nose. Octavius broke it. Again.

He feels no remorse. None.

Nor does he feel any satisfaction from it.

His body vibrates with anger.

He resumes struggling to break free from Jedediah, who continues to hold him in an iron grip. Being flush against that beloved body would have pleased him only minutes before, but now he only wishes to escape.

Clenching his jaw, Octavius wiggles and pulls at Jedediah’s grip. “Release me.”

Jedediah jerks Octavius to him again. “Not until you’ve shown me you’ve calmed down!”

Octavius kicks out with his leg, attempting to connect with some part of Silas.

“He’s buck wild!” Silas whines, shaking his head. His arm waves. “A bee musta flew up his ass or somethin’. I don’t know what happened! He just snapped on me!”

“You know what you did,” Octavius grounds out. He points. It is an edict. _“You know!”_

He makes a sweeping grab for Silas.

Silas screeches, stumbling backward.

“Alright,” Jedediah says, pulling Octavius back. “That’s it.”

And with that, Octavius is lifted off the ground and bounced over Jedediah’s shoulder. He kicks his legs, but Jedediah only bounces him higher, stalking back toward camp.

“Put me down!”

“No!”

Octavius kicks. “Put me down this instant, Jedediah!”

“Not until you calm down,” Jedediah repeats.

The perfectly reasonable tone skates across Octavius’s nerves.

“I’m going to kill him!”

Jedediah bounces him higher on his shoulder. “You ain’t doing diddly.”

Octavius screeches his upset, kicking his legs.

* * *

_Minutes later…_

Octavius holds his head proudly as he is lowered and bent, his wrists and neck placed into the pillory. His face is a mask of calm as he both hears and feels it shut and lock.

They are far from camp, far from town, by themselves. At the twin stockades. They haven't been utilized since Doc and Ringo worked out their grievances.

And were adopted. By Jedediah. And discreetly, by Octavius.  

As of this point, their brood consists of: a gigantic dinosaur, a horse, two outlaws, and a death pig. Although the death pig is technically a pet.

Octavius doesn’t know whether to weep or snarl. He feels as though he’s swallowed glass.

“I am a Roman Emperor,” he says. His voice is full of exaggerated pride. “I will not be made a spectacle!”

“That’s on you. You ain’t a spectacle unless ya make yourself one. Now stop kicking up a fuss. Quit your squawkin’ or this could get ugly!”

Octavius had been regal when he’d been put in the pillory, but now he’s jerking at his bonds, slamming the back of his head against the hinged board.

Bright lights flash across his vision.

The pain shocks him, but it helps. Forces him to focus. He has no wish to start a war. Not yet. Which is where this will lead if he continues screeching. It will call his men. They will investigate. And they will see how he’s being treated.

Jedediah turns at the loud smack. His blond hair is whipped about by the wind.

They eye one another as Octavius stands hunched.

Octavius breathes deeply through his nose, attempting to calm down.

As much as it is possible, he lifts his chin, and stares off to his far left. He finds he cannot look at Jedediah. “I have no wish to speak to you.”

“I ain’t so thrilled to be chatting with you right now, either.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

* * *

_Minutes later…_

“I will stand here and not speak to you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!” Octavius bangs his head against the back of the hinged board.

* * *

  _Minutes later…_

Octavius rattles his chains, forlorn. He stares out into the hall as a bedraggled, faceless gray-suited soldier drags himself past the dioramas on his hands and knees.

Octavius hazards he feels worse.

A soft wind lifts his pteruges.

He makes no move to keep them down, refusing to be modest. He is convinced Jedediah commands the wind and he is doing this on purpose.

His discovery has twisted him into nastiness. So, he lifts his chin grandly and with exaggerated pride.

Octavius has never had body issues. Romans are not sexually repressed. He could flounce about naked and be perfectly content. His newfound modesty has always been in deference to his company.

He allows his indifference to speak louder than his words.

Jedediah stands with his arms folded, head tilted at an angle. His gaze flickers. The unconcern has struck a chord.

 _Good_.

Off to their left, the wind howls over a bluff, insensible, thrashing and pulling at vegetation.

Octavius will not be intimidated by this display of temper.

“It seems we got ourselves a Mexican standoff.”

Octavius stares at Jedediah blankly. He says nothing for a long moment.

Then he lifts his chin again like a true Roman. “I grow weary of you. Let us simply move on to the physical torture. Do your worst. I’m not afraid.”

It is a challenge.

The wind hesitates. Falters. It shrieks, but with lessening force.

Jedediah exhales sharply. He spreads his arms wide. “What is it with you and torture?” His voice is loud and high pitched. “I ain’t gonna do anything to you but wait for ya to get a handle on your temper and calm down!”

Octavius lifts his head. He arches a defiant eyebrow. His jaw is granite.

In an uncompromising tone, he says, “Then you’re in for a long wait.”

Jedediah’s brows knit together.

He stumbles off the platform of the stockade and kicks dirt viciously.

Fists clenched, he spins away abruptly, stalking back toward town.

His pace is quick.

He takes the wind with him. It dies down at his departure, skirting harmlessly across the surface of the ground, across Octavius’s sandaled feet.

* * *

_Minutes later…_

Head down, eyes shut, Octavius believes he’s alone until he hears a throat clear.

Slowly, he opens his eyes and lifts his head.

It is Jedediah. He is still here. Or, rather, he has just returned.

His brown leather satchel is slung over one shoulder. In one hand he holds a canteen and clean rags. In the other, he holds the red journal.

Distracted, he drops the rags and lowers the canteen to the floor, focusing his attention solely on the journal.

He fingers through the pages delicately, before sliding his eyes over to Octavius.

A breeze caresses Octavius’s face and he lowers his head again. He notes the wind’s return. Not a tumult. It is no longer fierce, but it causes his ornamental pteruges to sway slightly, tickling the backs of his thighs.

He hears the scrape of a chair against the wooden base of the stockade and keeps his eyes down, staring at Jedediah’s boots while Jedediah takes a seat.  

Jedediah’s arms are folded. His leg is crossed over his knee and it is bouncing frantically while he fumes.

So. Still angry it would seem.

“Have anything to say for yourself?”

Octavius lifts his eyes. “I could ask the same of you.”

* * *

_Minutes later…_

A gloved hand reaches out to gently lift his chin.

Octavius flinches, curling his raw fingers. He darts his gaze in the opposite direction.

Jedediah pauses. Then he inches closer, slow and cautious. He lifts his hand to Octavius's face, and Octavius flinches back again.

“Ockie. You're bleeding…’’

“Do not touch me,’’ Octavius croaks, turning his head away.

He grits his teeth, tears stinging his eyes. His chin does not quiver, remaining granite.

Through the replay of memory, he realizes he headbutted Silas. He must have connected harder than he thought.

Octavius bites down hard against the pain in his head. It is nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

Jedediah gets up and smacks Octavius lightly on the jaw. “Sshh. Stop gritting your teeth so dang tight. You're hurt and that ain’t helping.”

Octavius glares. _“You_ have hurt me.”

Jedediah tips his head to the side, eyeing him. _“How_ have I hurt ya?”

Octavius glowers. He’s right on the verge of saying nothing, but his pain is too great for silence.

“All of my grand proclamations. My fumbling attempts to adhere to American culture and be respectful toward your reserve. And you’d already taken a lover. I thought —” he shakes his head, teeth and eyes both clenched shut. “I have been played for a fool.”

Jedediah snorts. Actually, snorts.

“And now you laugh at my pain! I thought better of you.”

He will not cry. He will _not._

Jedediah lifts his chin and blows out a gentle breath, ruffling Octavius's short hair. “Sshh…”

Octavius's expression softens at the gesture. He closes his eyes to mask the vulnerability he feels. His face falls. “Why did you not tell me? I would have ceased my pursuit of you. I would have been content with your friendship.”

Jedediah laughs softly, holding Octavius captive with his gaze. “No, you wouldn’t. If ya thought I was with somebody you would’ve kicked it up a notch. You’d be ten times worse than ya are now.”

Octavius thinks this over.

Yes. He closes his eyes again. Yes, he would have been. His history points toward these tendencies.

He admits nothing out loud.

Jedediah clicks his teeth. He gently lifts Octavius’s chin and dabs at his face with a cool, damp rag. “So I reckon since ya caught me out, I ought ta’ be off doctoring my boy right about now.” He shrugs. “Since he’s bleedin’ all over everything, and all.”

Octavius closes his eyes. “Correct.” He jerks his chin. “Go. Be with your chosen.”

Jedediah huffs, rolling his eyes. “Okay.” He continues gently dabbing Octavius's face.

He angles his chin, peering up at Octavius from under his Stetson. There is good humor radiating from his gaze.

Octavius scrunches his shoulder up. He pulls back as far as he is able. “I said: _go._ Your beloved awaits you.”

Jedediah merely tilts the canteen, rinsing the rag out.

“So. much. drama.” He leans forward and quietly mutters, “Shakespeare would have loved you.”

They are words from their past.

“Do not mock me!”

With a sigh, Jedediah steps back. His lips thin.

Then, abruptly, he loses his temper and swings his satchel.

It slams down hard against the floor.

Fuming, he kicks it. Then rests his hands on his hips. He paces.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud!” He whirls and points. “Now you listen and you listen good. I'm tryin' _real_ hard ta’ rein in my temper here. ‘Cause you know what I wanna do right now? I’ll tell ya. I wanna smack you seven ways ta’ Sunday with my hat and plant my boot up your backside!

He spreads his arms wide. “If ya haven’t noticed, I ain’t made a move to leave ya. I went to town to grab my doctoring supplies.

“Silas and me ain’t together. We’ve never been together. We ain't gonna be together! He’s got his harem. And, me —”

Jedediah swats Octavius with the wet rag.

“Well, I got me a tiny, feisty Roman who gets his panties in a bunch, jumps to conclusions, and starts wailing on innocent folk. Silas and me are roomies. That’s all!”

Worked up, Jedediah goes back to dabbing at Octavius’s face. His movements are sharp and jerky, using a bit more force than is truly necessary.

Octavius winces and flinches away from the rag. He draws back as far as the pillory will allow him, gaze clouded with caution. “I do not know that term.”

“It means we’re sharing a tent. Or, to put an even more honest spin on it, he got tired of seeing me curled up on the ground all the dang time and offered the use of his tent since he ain't never there. Harem.”

Jedediah returns to dabbing at Octavius’s lip with his rag. “I _sleep_ there.”

“You could have had your own tent. Grander. Finer. You could have had a Roman bed. Or, shared my quarters. I offered.” On multiple occasions.

Jedediah sighs, and continues cleaning Octavius’s lip. “And ya know why I turned ya down.” He slaps his own thigh, then forms a trembling fist. “Doggone it, Oct! We’ve been over this. Like a blue-million times!”

Octavius closes his eyes. He sighs and thumps his head against the pillory board. It makes him feel vaguely nauseated.

Jedediah lifts his gloved hand, wedging it between the board and Octavius’s skull.

“Stop.”

Dutifully, Octavius stops, peeking one eye open.

Jedediah exhales sharply. “You’re pretty darn quick to assume the worst on me here. Which, I think, is a little uncalled for. Wanna tell me why?”

Octavius squeezes his eyes shut again, feeling the pain of memory. “You are modest to a fault. And yet your neckerchief was off. And your shirt was unbuttoned.”

“I’d retired for the night. By _myself_. I wanted ta’ get comfortable. Despite what ya think, I ain’t always dressed to the nines and decorated in this fancy get-up all the dang time. And I had my blanket over me. Ain’t like I gave him a show.”

Octavius growls. “That —” he grimaces, inadvertently baring his teeth, the protective feelings he has toward Jedediah, and the jealous anger he’s directed against Silas rising once again to the surface — “that _man_ left the tent half naked. He thanked you. I do not want to know what for.”

Jedediah sits down in the chair and tips his canteen, pouring more water onto the rag.

As carefully as he can, he wipes at Octavius’s bloodied knuckles.

“He was thanking me for sewing a few buttons back on his shirt. One of the ladies in his harem ripped them off in the heat of the moment.”

 _“She_ could have sewn them back on.”

“Yeah?” Jedediah tilts his head. “Well, she didn’t know how. I did. It was an honest trade. A few buttons for a tent. If ya ask me, I got the better deal.”

Octavius lifts his chin. Not out of any Roman notions, but simply to keep his emotions from spilling from his eyes. He sniffs, wanting to believe Jedediah. He truly does. He wants his friendship, his companionship, his compassion.

_His everything._

Remaining stubborn, he says, “Your hair was disheveled.”

Jedediah frowns, his bottom lip sticking out. “I’d laid down to get some shut-eye when he came in. I’m a tosser-turner.” He runs his gloved fingers through the ends of his hair. “Want me to chop it off?”

Octavius’s eyes widen. He stares at Jedediah in mute horror. It is a fate worse than death. His fists instantly clench. Hastily, he finds his voice. _“No!”_

Jedediah huffs. Then shrugs. “I couldn’t get comfortable, ‘Tavius. That’s the honest-to-God truth.”

“You never have that problem with me.”

Swallowing, Jedediah compresses his lips. Denial flickers across his face. Abruptly, he dips his head, blushing.

Octavius closes his eyes as that familiar bashfulness overtakes Jedediah. While such mannerisms can be easily feigned, the telltale blushing cannot.

When Jedediah lifts his head, he stares at Octavius pointedly and unblinking. His boot taps against the wooden base of the stockade, drumming out an irritated rhythm.

Octavius is reminded of the first night Jedediah had fallen asleep around him. He had tossed and turned and babbled gibberish, eventually turning himself into a Texan burrito by the next evening. Although he remembers this, he isn’t quite ready to give in.

“When you sleep, you have…” he pauses. He breathes deep, feeling renewed jealousy. “You have certain tendencies.”

Jedediah sits back in his chair. “Oh? This I gotta hear.”

“You're a cuddler.”

Jedediah makes an odd, choking sound. His eyes are enormous. He sits back, eyebrows having shot up, disappearing beneath his Stetson. His lips part, the bottom lip poking out slightly again.

“No.”

He sits in shocked silence, and then shakes his head in denial. Not at the accusations of infidelity, but over Octavius’s belief that Jedediah is secretly a physically affectionate person.

“Yes.”

“You’re outta your dad-gum mind! I ain't no cuddler.”

“You are. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were half octopus.”

Jedediah’s breathing hasn’t slowed. If anything, it quickens. His chest heaves. Squinting, he denies. _“Nuh-uh!”_

“You spoon me. Constantly.”

Fists clenched, Jedediah jumps out of his seat so fast it overturns. Off in the distance, the wind begins howling again. “I don’t gotta take this!”

He stumbles backward off the platform.

Kicking up dirt, he looks ready to stalk back toward town. Or further out into the Old West. Anywhere. As long as it is far away from Octavius.

Before he can get two paces, Octavius says quietly, “My words were not meant as a criticism.” He blurts out in a slightly panicked rush, “I love that about you. How your barriers crumble in your sleep. It is precious to me.” This time his chin does quiver. “I wish to be the only one who sees you thus.”

Jedediah stops marching and whirls around.

Deeply embarrassed, his face is redder than his neckerchief, which he must have tied back on when he disappeared to retrieve his rucksack, Stetson, and gloves. He looks ready to bolt, but he wets his lips and stares down at the ground instead.

He lifts his gaze.

“You are,” he says quietly.

Suddenly, he appears exhausted. He rubs his eyes, then drops his arm.

“I honestly can’t tell ya what I get up to in my sleep. I ain’t never let anybody get this close before.”

The answer leaves Octavius a little breathless. His stomach twists in on itself. He sucks in a breath, floundering. His chin wobbles as emotion stings his eyes.

Jedediah points his gloved index finger toward the ground. “Take a leap of faith that I’m tellin’ ya the truth.”

Octavius swallows hard, still floundering.

Jedediah says nothing, and Octavius flounders some more.

He lifts his gaze, biting his lip. Not trusting his voice, he whispers, “I made a journal. For you.”

Jedediah sucks in a breath, lips parting. “Really? You made it?”

“With some assistance,” Octavius confesses. He tilts his head. “But, yes.”

“I got it right here.” Jedediah reaches behind him. “In my back pocket.”

He palms the journal, gripping it between his gloved fingers.

Octavius watches Jedediah hold it flat, tracing over the branded initials and intricate Roman design.

“It’s beautiful,” Jedediah finally says, looking up. “Mighty fine.”

Glumly, Octavius grimaces. “I’m afraid your first entry won’t be a very flattering portrait of me.”

Jedediah shrugs. “Yeah, well. I reckon I might tweak that part. I shoulda told ya about Silas and the tent. I’m sorry you found out the way ya did. I just didn’t think you’d take it this hard.”

Octavius nods. “It could have been handled better on both sides. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

Jedediah moves to undo Octavius’s bonds. Then stops, squatting down. His gaze is filled with a gentle perception.

“I know you don’t like talkin’ much about your past, so I don’t know what went on —” he lifts his shoulder “— you know. Before. But ya gotta know.” He shakes his head. “I ain’t _them._ And if I don't let you, my best friend, in my breeches, then Silas don’t stand a chance. Ya hear?”

The confession is spoken softly. A whisper on the wind.

Octavius nods. “I do.” Expression once again vulnerable, he jerks his wrist within the confines of the stockade. “Please. Come here.”

Jedediah lifts his Stetson from his head and moves forward.

Very gently he bumps the tips of their noses together. Their breaths mingle.

Octavius swears he can almost feel their lips brush.  

After a beat, Jedediah rests his forehead against Octavius’s.

Octavius closes his eyes, relishing the touch. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I forgot who I was with.”

“I know ya did. And it’s okay.” Jedediah moves back enough so he can peer at Octavius straight on. “But I need for you ta’ cool it on this whole jealousy thing. It ain’t becoming.” He shakes his head. “There ain’t nobody else. And if there ever comes a time when I even feel tempted, you’d be the first one to know. I’d be man enough ta’ tell ya. I want what my folks had, remember? I won’t cheat.”

Octavius nods again.

He stands still as he is unshackled and released from the stockade.

Jedediah lifts the hinged board and steps back.

Octavius rubs his wrists and then runs his hands along the back of his neck. His throat.

He stares off into space, allowing his mind and heart to settle into their normal rhythm.

“I appreciate my gift, by the way,” Jedediah says quietly.

Octavius quirks an eyebrow.

Subdued, he rocks once on the balls of his feet. He is pleased.

Leaning forward, he closes the distance between them.

There, he ghosts his fingertips a hairsbreadth from touching Jedediah’s jaw and presses his lips to Jedediah’s opposite cheek with a slow, measured intensity.

Jedediah jerks back, startled, but he doesn’t yelp. He blinks rapidly. His pupils are enormous.

 _“That,_ my love, is called progress.”

Jedediah doesn’t reply. He simply blinks.

When the silence stretches, Octavius’s gaze flicks to Jedediah’s neckerchief. It has been hastily tied and is lopsided.

He clicks his tongue, fussing over it, fixing both Jedediah’s shirt collar and the skewed neckerchief.

Jedediah remains staring at him completely mute. He trembles so minutely, the only outward sign is his hair. It’s vibrating.

Octavius drops his hand and strides toward town without glancing back.

He presses the pads of his fingers to his lips. They tingle slightly, still feeling the warm press of stubble.

The wind is back, the breeze flapping at his ornamental pteruges and tickling his thighs.

Still believing Jedediah is responsible for the wisps of air, he lifts his head grandly.

He airily flips his pteruges up over his hips for sport as he strides away, flashing a bit of thigh. His buttocks is modestly covered by a pair of overlong, flimsy gray undergarments.

And, _there._

Right there is that startled yelp. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head, relishing that much-loved sound. It has become music to his ears.

He half expects to be lifted over Jedediah’s shoulder again and plopped right back into the pillory.

His eyebrow quirks when he isn’t. He purses his lips.

“Progress,” he whispers again, pleased.

One day, Jedediah is going to stop playing hard to get, turn from the chase, and pounce.

And Octavius is going to make it exceedingly easy for Jedediah to catch him.

* * *

_Weeks Later…_

“That’s it! You’re goin’ in the stockade!”

And with that call to arms, a new era is born.

Much to Octavius’s surprise, they have hit upon what Octavius refers to as _Jedediah’s secret kink._

It doesn’t matter — big arguments or small — Octavius eventually winds up in the stockade.

One stockade. The other has been torn down, scrapped for another one of Jedediah’s home improvement projects.

Octavius both lovingly and jokingly refers to them as: _Stockade Dates._

It is a skewed bit of courtship to be sure. A stylized mating ritual they have made entirely their own.

Octavius has discovered this manner of sparking is less intimidating for Jedediah than real, honest-to-goodness courtship where Jedediah typically gets flustered and stuttery and his blushes could supply the light source for a small, _miniature_ island.

By contrast, these dates make Jedediah a bit more confident. Bolder. And to be perfectly fair, Octavius typically does not mind.

If feeling more in control of the situation is what it takes to pull Jedediah out of his romantic shell, Octavius is up for it.

Somehow they are both more genuine and honest with one another when Octavius has been thrust headfirst into the pillory. And Octavius finds Jedediah’s manly, forward, take-charge approach to their “dates” an incredible turn-on. And they are having fun together.

Octavius is hefted up over Jedediah’s shoulder, legs kicking. He struggles.

“But I don’t want to go into the stockade!”

Jedediah smacks Octavius high on the thigh, close to the curve of his rump. “Hush, you. You’re going!”

Octavius whips his head, eyes lighting up. His mouth opens in a perfect _O_ of surprise. “Ooh, Jedediah!”

He may be blushing. Before Jedediah, he hadn’t believed such a thing was possible.

And then he is bounced higher.

Dipped down past Jedediah’s shoulder blades, he screeches. His legs are still kicking.

What others do not see — the nightguards, in particular — is the enormous smile plastered on Octavius’s face, or hear the laughter in his voice as he “struggles” to escape.

* * *

_Weeks Later…_

Jedediah closes his old journal, having finished reading a few parts from it out loud.

Octavius is quiet. Content.

Back to back, they rest against the stockade in silence, enjoying the warm breeze as it skirts across the Old West.

Octavius had found himself locked up again, but Jedediah claimed he looked _pitiful_ and let him out.

Octavius has heard the stories from the original journal before, but he never tires of hearing them. Each time Jedediah reads to him, Octavius finds himself there, in Jedediah’s past.

Octavius often imagines himself as a man in Jedediah's company. He wears black. A duster. With a red waistcoat. Often, he is rich. A banker. A statesman, perhaps. Sometimes, he's simply a world weary traveler looking for a fresh start. The best daydreams are ones where he and Jedediah grew up together as boys. Then he is poor.

Regardless of how the daydream begins, he knows he would have trusted Captain Smith implicitly. Jedediah would have undoubtedly protected him in this brave, new world.

He would have protected Jedediah, also.

In his musings, he imagines the past Jedediah. Still tall and strong. Handsome. Even if nobody else thought so.

His light brown hair would cover the scarred side of his face, over one of his eyes. They would be dark blue, the color of a tumultuous sky. And the corners of his eyes would still crinkle when he laughs. If he ever does.

That would be Octavius’s job, he thinks. To make Jedediah laugh, like Jedediah often does with him now. He thinks the humor was there all along, simply stunted. Hidden. Quiet laughter versus loud and boisterous.

Octavius knows he would have stared for too long. Intrigued. Fascinated. Until Jedediah Strong Smith scowled with a hardened gaze and turned away from him.

He does not think they would have been friends at first. That would come later. Like now.

Octavius knows he could not look away. He would sit beside Jedediah in the harsh, unknown wilderness in front of a warm fire. Each night. Until Jedediah grew accustomed and trusting of his presence and did not attempt to scoot away.

After many layers of friendship, as they are listening contentedly to the flow of a river, he would have eventually reached out and brushed Jedediah’s hair behind his ear. Stroke his fingers softly over those scars.

Octavius would see the lightning in those blue eyes flash —

“Ockie!”

— and probably would have felt a cold jolt of surprise after Captain Smith rejected his advances. Because his almost-husband is nothing if not consistent.

_“Ockie!”_

He is smacked on the arm.

Octavius startles. Looks around. Blinks. “What! I was listening!” He turns his head, lifting his arm to defend himself against the hat of doom. “What?”

Jedediah has angled around, sitting in front of him.

With no external scars. And his eyes are extremely bright, energetic, and striking. They are not flashing. His manner is calm. Relaxed.

“Mmm-hmm.” He rolls his eyes. “Sure ya were.”

Octavius sighs, caught. “I'm sorry, my love. I was dreaming of a devastatingly handsome rake of a man.”

Unhurriedly, he draws himself up on his hands and knees, slinking toward Jedediah like a stalking feline.

“A captain of discovery.” Leaning into Jedediah’s personal space, he tweaks the top buttons of Jedediah’s flimsy blue shirt. His voice dips into a sultry register. “And exploration...”

He flicks his gaze.

Turning on the charm, his eyes smolder, and then he quirks a seductive, yet hopeful eyebrow. His smile is lopsided.

Jedediah stares at him blankly.

His arms are crossed. Legs, too. Pursing his lips, he taps one of his boots against the wood.

Adorable, even when he pouts.

“Uh-huh.”

Octavius drops his fingers from the top buttons with a sigh. “He tossed me in the river.”

A humorous glint appears behind Jedediah’s eyes. He laughs. Full body laughter.

Turning thoughtful, he says, “Mmm. He didn’t by any chance have a wolf with him, did he?”

Octavius hums. “A wolf. A journal. And was, by all accounts, criminally unattached. A rugged, spirited individual by the name of Smith.” He arches an eyebrow. “Did you know him?”

Jedediah’s gaze is warm. “I think I heard tell. Once.”

Octavius’s eyes rove. “He was sublime.”

Jedediah’s mouth quirks, pleased.

They hold their gazes for a few moments longer, and then Octavius switches gears and backs off from the flirting, knowing Jedediah can only take so much.

Even if what Octavius truly wants to do is slide into Jedediah’s lap.

He retreats entirely, plopping down hard on his rump.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “Anyway, my darling, you were saying?”

Jedediah lets out a breath and glances down.

He flicks his gaze. His brow furrows for a moment, eyes darting as though he’d forgotten.

After a beat, he asks, “I asked if ya might tell _me_ a story for once.”

Octavius blinks. He blinks twice.

He angles his head, nose scrunching. “A story?”

“Yeah. You know. A story about…you.” Jedediah says quietly. He wets his lips. “I mean. I just ain’t a man who likes ta’ talk about himself much. And it’s kinda embarrassing, ya know? I’d much rather hear about something from _your_ past.”

The are mired in an uncomfortable silence.

Octavius sees the hopeful, endearing look on Jedediah's face. “Please?”

He feels sick.

Cautiously, he asks, “What do you want to know?”

Jedediah glances down. He continues tapping the side of his boot against the board.

“Tell me something good you did. Something that made ya proud.”

Octavius swallows. His eyes dart as his brain repeats the mantra: _Something good. Something good..._

He takes a deep breath.

“There were no good men in Rome.” Jedediah opens his mouth to protest, but Octavius lifts his hand. “There were no good men in Rome,” he repeats. “There were only those who were more merciful.”

Jedediah frowns, but closes his mouth.

Octavius goes on.

“There was a man. Publius Vedius Pollio, the son of a freedman and whose given name he shared. On my behalf,  he held authority in the province of _Asiana.”_

Jedediah lifts a brow. “Asia?”

Octavius nods. “He was quite wealthy. He lived...luxuriously, to say the least. Better than I.”

Jedediah snorts.

Arching a brow, Octavius says, “I have simpler tastes.”

Jedediah’s eyebrows disappear under his hat. He huffs. “Sure ya do, Mister Fancypants.”

Octavius waves his hand. “My need for material possessions is modest. It is my choice in _men_ that is extravagant.” He arches a brow again. “Dearest.”

Jedediah sucks in a breath, choking on air. He pounds his chest.

It shuts him up.

Octavius extends his arms on either side of him. “Now. Are you going to provide a running commentary throughout the entire tale or am I going to be allowed to continue?”

Waving his hand, Jedediah still coughs, choking every so often. “I’m good.”

Octavius lifts his chin. “You’re certain?”

“Yup. It’s your show, moonbeam.”

Satisfied, Octavius goes on. “I was once a guest in Vedius’s home.” He grimaces. “Once was enough.”

He allows the pull of history, the memory rising up.

“We were dining. Discussing the affairs of Rome. But…” He furrows his brow. “Now that I am remembering, he used the opportunity as an excuse to expound upon himself. I found his pompous blathering about his wealth and possessions boring.

“Either he was too arrogant, too self-absorbed, or simply too foolish to recognize that he was in the company of the man who had the power to take it all from him if I so chose.

“To brace myself for the arduous evening ahead, I ordered another drink be sent for.

“Within moments, I hear the sound of glass shattering upon the ground.

“We both turned our heads to see that one of Vedius’s slaves had dropped my wine. It was inconvenient, to be sure, but not alarmingly so. It was a simple matter to clean up. However, the cupbearer had broken one of his master’s treasured crystal glasses.”

Octavius closes his eyes and settles back against the pillory. He allows his mind to drift back further as he recalls the incident.

_The boy held the tray in trembling hands, tears welling in his dark eyes, staring down at the shattered remains of the glass in abject horror._

_Tremors wracked his body._

_There was a strained silence before he threw himself upon the ground, scrambling to pick up the shattered pieces. To mend them._

_Augustus watched impassively as a growing red pool spread out around the child’s knees._

_The boy’s hands were covered with blood. It trailed in between his fingers, splashing in wet droplets into the spreading puddle upon the stone floor._

Octavius blinks his eyes open. He takes a breath.

Jedediah stares, mouth agape. His eyes are enormous.

While Octavius had been reliving the incident, Jedediah had brought his knees up to his chest. He leans forward. “So. What happened?”

Octavius eyes flicker up. His gaze darkens. It takes him a moment to completely return.

In his mind’s eye, he sees his once ice-blue gaze harden.

“Vedius, of course, was both livid and deeply embarrassed by the incident. I had thought the worst fate for the youth would be a thrashing. But I was wrong. Vedius was a cruel man.”

Pulled once more into the past, he sees Vedius storm over to the boy, grab him by the scruff of the neck. Shake him viciously. Then proceed to drag the bleeding youth over toward a stone pool.

_The boy was flailing. Shrieking. Begging. Pleading. Breaking into hysterical sobs. Screaming for mercy._

Jedediah's head tilts, confused. “A pool?”

Octavius licks his lips. “It was a Roman pool. Often a feature in great houses of the time. This pool was filled with...lampreys.”

Jedediah's face twists, looking even more confused.

Octavius takes a deep breath.

Patiently, he explains, “Lampreys are small eels. They have sharp tongues that bury themselves into the flesh of their victims. This is in order to ingest their blood. Getting bitten by one such creature is quite painful.

“Vedius had the pools in his villa filled with _hundreds_ of them. Pets. As I later came to learn, it was his favored form of punishment. Those who displeased him — mainly his slaves — served as the lampreys’ food source. He would push them into the water. Hold them down. It was a slow and agonizing way to die.”

Jedediah's lips part, eyes wide. “God…” he breathes.

Octavius shakes his head, closing his eyes. He hears the boy screaming for him.

_The youth twisted his body, freeing himself from Vedius’s grip._

_Knees still bleeding, he flung himself at Augustus’s feet._

_Trembling, the boy gripped the hem of Augustus’s pristine toga desperately, smearing it bright red._

_“My liege, my emperor, please! Please choose a more merciful death for me! I beg you!”_

_Augustus stared down at the boy with dispassionate eyes._

_But it was Octavius’s fingers that twitched._

“What did you do?” Jedediah asks.

Octavius opens his eyes. There is a hard light in his gaze.

“I attempted to dissuade Vedius from committing such a monstrous act, but he was beyond reasoning.

“So I had the rest of his drinking vessels brought before me.”

Jedediah hugs his knees, attention riveted.

In Latin, Octavius speaks his own words.

Jedediah’s brow knits. His eyes dart as he translates quickly: _“Bring all the rest of the drinking vessels which are of like sort or any others of value that you possess, in order that I may use them.”_

“Vedius was puzzled,” Octavius says, “but he remained silent and still as his other slaves hurried to bring forth the rest of the crystal. Then I had his slaves set them out in a line across the table.”

_The servant boy was still at Augustus’s feet, clutching the cloth of his toga in his bloodied fingers._

_Gently, Augustus — Octavius — pulled himself free of the child’s grip._

_The youth sank to the floor in a swoon, his sobs filling the quiet room._

_Octavius plucked one of the glasses from the table, holding it up towards the light, admiring its beauty._

_“Vedius. I can see why you would be so vexed. These glasses are exquisite. Quite stunning. And expensive.”_

_“Yes, my liege!” Vedius barked with laughter. He hurried over and yanked the crying boy up by the back of his tunic._

_The boy moaned, overcome with despair. “No…no...no…”_

_Octavius’s gaze flicked from the frightened child to Vedius. His eyes narrowed._

_At last, he spoke. “I prefer my glasses to remain a completed set. Don’t you?” He arched his brow. “So...what is the point of keeping the rest of these fine pieces?”_

_Vedius’s grin fell from his face. “My liege?”_

_With a flick of his wrist, Octavius let the glass roll from his hand._

_The glass shattered._

“You didn’t!” Jedediah exclaims, clutching his hat in suspense.

“One by one, I threw all of his treasured crystal glasses upon the stone floor.” Octavius’s lips curl in satisfaction at the memory.

_Shards of glass tinkled and bounced ear-pleasingly delicate upon the floor._

“Vedius could only stare in stunned silence at the broken glasses. His emperor had done more damage to his property than any of his slaves and there was _nothing_ he could say or do.”

Jedediah drops his hat in his lap. Curling his fingers into fists, he shakes them, cheering.

“Whoo-wee! That’s my boy!”

Grinning, Octavius glances down at the ground and gives Jedediah a shy sideways smile. He is pleased Jedediah enjoyed his story.

After a beat, Jedediah leans forward and asks, “So, what happened to the kid?”

Octavius rubs his chin, remembering. “I knew his breaths were numbered. Vedius was, no doubt, waiting to harm him the moment I removed myself from his presence.”

“Oh, no.” Jedediah whispers.

“So, I freed him.”

_He swept across the room, his hand gripping the boy’s shoulder._

_Glancing down, he waited until the youth peered up at him._

_The child blinked. His eyes were dry, but his face still showed the stain of tears._

_“Come, child,” Octavius said simply._

_He steered the boy past the red-faced Vedius and the glass-covered floor._

_Octavius would not be visiting again._

_As they exited the villa, the boy fell at Octavius’s feet._

_The youth kissed the ring on Octavius’s finger. His face was still tear-stained as he leaned his small head against Octavius’s hand._

_“...thank you.”_

“Sweet Lordy,” Jedediah breathes, placing a hand over his heart. He looks at Octavius with unabashed pride.

And respect.

Octavius glances down again. He’s proud of his former self, too, actually.

When he looks up, he finds Jedediah gazing at him. There is a flash of _something_ sparking behind his eyes; he tugs at his neckerchief.

Octavius glances down at the platform. When he looks back up, Jedediah is grinning from ear to ear. “That was a good story, Oct. Who said there were no good Roman men back in the day?”

Octavius blinks. Taken aback, he stammers, “I — I’m pleased you enjoyed the story.”

Jedediah scoots nearer. So near, Octavius can feel his warmth. Wanting to be even closer, Octavius scoots over to him.

Thighs pressed together, Octavius can smell the warm leather. The clean scent, delightfully masculine. It is glorious.

He is content.

“No. Seriously,” Jedediah says. “You were a good emperor.”

Octavius waves his hand, cheeks warming. He ducks his head, smiling a true smile.

“Yes, well. I had my moments.” He glances down, his hands ball into fists. “I should have done more. Had he demonstrated his cruelty to me now, there would be a reckoning. However, I realize I cannot change the past. I can only strive toward a more improved upon future.”

“Times were different then. But I’m sure that kid never forgot what ya did for him. I bet he thought about it everyday. I know I would have.”

Jedediah pauses, watching Octavius thoughtfully. He wets his lips.

It’s close to dawn.

Neither make a move to separate.

And then, at last, Jedediah sighs, feeling the same pull in his chest that Octavius does to return home.

Jedediah pats Octavius once on the knee before hopping to his feet. The wind lifts his hair, curling it in invitation.

Walking backwards, he says, “I, for one, think you’re a keeper.”

Octavius’s lips part.

Jedediah spins forward, striding away.

Octavius stares after him long after he’s a speck on the horizon.

* * *

_Weeks later..._

Octavius does not spend every night in the company of his beloved. He is still emperor, after all.  The senate is a nonexistent entity here in the museum, and considering how his adoptive father met his end and how lightly Octavius had to tread in his beginning years of power, he isn’t precisely enthusiastic to see its rebirth.

He still has other duties, however. Training his army. Conducting religious ceremonies. Settling grievances. Overseeing punishments, which, thankfully are few and far in between.

His army is, primarily, a good lot. And loyal. By his estimation, he is surrounded by good men. It is rare he must exercise the discipline function of his duties.

This night finds him in Rome.

Duties performed, he is taking an ambling stroll through the orchards.

There is green around him. Thick leaves attach to trees on either side, creating a natural tunnel along the walking path.

He lifts his arm, fingers skimming across the leaves.

It is beautiful here. Peaceful. Quiet. One might say, serene.

He intends to bring Jedediah here one day.

Whether it be from the constant chatter, or Octavius being forced to climb the apple trees —

With Jedediah around, he doubts very much his sanctuary will remain peaceful or quiet for long.

Bouncing at the thought, Octavius cannot wait!

He invites Jedediah to Rome often, but his friend remains perpetually stubborn.

The Americans have been invited and some have even taken the Romans up on their invitation.

One-eyed Charley has displayed his skill in the chariot races. He brought his stagecoach. It was...a unique experience.

Calamity Jane has taken up a new calling as a part-time gladiator. This suits Octavius just fine. She’s a natural brawler and the woman can be a menace. Especially when she’s on the prowl.

He has also discovered her preferences tend toward unattainable men. Mainly, him.

Since then, he has been chased into the Old West for protection on several occasions.

During these times, he is never more grateful for his speed. All she gets for her trouble is a trail of dust in the air, and the flapping of Octavius’s red paludamentum as he sprints for the safety of Jedediah’s tent.

Which is where he usually finds himself anyway. There, he catches his breath as he crouches behind Jedediah, who doesn’t try to suppress his laughter as he writes in his red journal.

Jedediah does squawk occasionally when Octavius hears someone tromping around outside and Octavius’s fists clench around that flimsy blue shirt, pulling Jedediah back against him.

Journal and writing materials go flying as he uses Jedediah as a battle shield.

When this happens, Jedediah stops laughing at him. He stills. And they find themselves each staring up at the canvas top, breath deepening unevenly, not daring to move a muscle.

It stops being about Jane at this point.

Especially when Jedediah turns his head to look at him in shocked surprise and Octavius holds that startled gaze a little too long before settling his eyes on Jedediah’s open mouth.

Octavius’s thoughts stray back to his stroll.

He is just plucking an apple from a tree branch when he thinks he hears a moan.

It is followed by a sharp gasp.

Concerned that one of his soldiers may be in pain, he follows the noises.

And then he is stunned, his face burning as he sees two of his men engaged in the act of heated coupling. Their heads are angled away from him, so he cannot see their faces.

Limbs tangling, the coupling is swift, hard, and almost entirely silent except for the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

It is a primal dance of push and pull, abruptly ending when the man on top stiffens.

The soldier drops against the body under his in the aftermath. He is panting.

Tension eases from the man's limbs and he releases a satisfied breath.

A twig snaps under Octavius’s foot, and the two men whip their heads. And then they gasp, realizing they’ve been caught. And by whom.

Octavius can only stare wide-eyed as he watches Tiberius and Marcus frantically pull themselves together and scramble away.

The apple Octavius holds slips from numb fingers. He stands frozen in disbelief. Disbelief over what he has just witnessed, and disbelief in himself for not having recognized the signs of a tryst.

Floundering, he is at a complete loss.

* * *

_Minutes later…_

Octavius hurries over to the Old West in a daze. He doesn't notice Silas duck behind the stables, or the ladies whistling and calling to him from the cathouse, waving their scarves and shawls.

He finds Jedediah, once again, writing in his new journal.

Having retired for the evening, Jedediah is in a relaxed state. His hat rests beside him. His gloves are off. The neckerchief is laying off to the side, tied to the strap of Jedediah’s rucksack.

His writing materials are laid out neatly before him as Jedediah sprawls across his blanket on the ground.

He leans on one elbow, knees bent in a way that draws the eyes to the curve of his rump.

It would be a most provocative pose if it wasn’t such a thoughtless sprawl. Or if Jedediah had any real awareness of his own charms.

At Octavius’s entrance, Jedediah glances up with a soft smile, pen in hand.

“Hey, you!”

“Jedediah. I must —”

Jedediah’s attention returns to his journal. He lifts one finger. “Uno momento, amigo.”

Octavius begins pacing. In the interim, he unties his chin strap and removes his helmet from his head. “I need you.”

Jedediah snorts at the perceived blatant come-on. He is used to it by now. “Not tonight, darlin'. Got a headache.”

Octavius harrumphs. Jedediah thinks he’s a comedian. And in this context, at least, Jedediah _always_ has a headache.

“Jedediah, I’m being serious.”

“Mmm-hmm. Ain’t happening, kemosabe.”

Frustrated, Octavius folds his arms, pacing in a tight line back and forth.

After several more moments of inattentiveness, Octavius loses his patience and grabs hold of the journal, tugging it from Jedediah’s grip. He snaps the book shut and flings it out of the tent.

Jedediah stares at his now empty hands. _“What in the Sam Hill —”_

He lifts his eyes, shaking so minutely only his hair vibrates.

_Uh-oh…_

Sheepish, Octavius grins, lopsided, desperately-adorable, attempting to smooth ruffled feathers.

This is how Octavius finds himself in his first unintentional stockade date against his will.

* * *

_Minutes later…_

Octavius thumps his head against the back of the pillory board. He rattles his chains, still in shock.

Jedediah is getting faster at this.

“Oops…”

“Mmm-hmm…”

He hears the scrape of Jedediah’s chair against the back of the wooden platform as Jedediah settles in.

Jedediah watches him in aggravation. His arms are folded across his chest and he tips the back of his chair legs so he can glare at a better angle. He crosses his leg over one knee. The leg bounces frantically. His lips are pursed.

Octavius offers a weak smile.

Sheepishly, he attempts to wave, but the shackles only allow his hand to move so far.  

Jedediah does not blink. “You got my attention.”

Through a series of scandalized starts and stops, Octavius informs Jedediah, detailing him on the entire crisis.

He finishes with a loud, dramatic breath and thumps his head against the board.

Jedediah’s leg stops bouncing. He leans forward in his chair, rubbing his palms together, indicating without words that he wishes to hear more of the sordid story that has Octavius so terribly rattled he got himself tossed in the stockade.

“And then I came to see you.”

Jedediah rolls his head. Then he rolls his wrist. “And…”

“And? That’s it.”

“That’s it!” Jedediah echos back incredulously.

Octavius thumps his skull against the board. “Isn’t that enough?” He is miserable.

Jedediah blinks at him. He tilts his head to one side. His brow furrows in confusion.

At last, he huffs. “Okay, seriously. Who are you and what have ya done with the _real_ Octavius?”

“This is no time for games!”

“Call me dense, but I don’t see the problem. You caught a pair of your boys going at it. The end. Big whoop.” Jedediah spreads his arms wide. “It ain’t the end of the world.”

Octavius lifts his eyes. “It may be the end of theirs.”

Jedediah tilts his head to the other side again. “Is this just more of your Roman melodrama or am I missin’ something here?”

Octavius closes his eyes. He grimaces, seeing horrific visions twirl from the past. Things he had to remain silent and stoic over in his previous life.

“By Roman law, they could be stoned for the offense.” He opens his eyes. “And I have no desire to lose anyone.”

Jedediah studies him for a long moment. “You’re serious?”

Octavius nods.

Biting his lip, Jedediah leans forward again. “Okay. Start from the beginning.”

* * *

_An indeterminable time later…_

Octavius attempts to explain the attitudes Romans had toward sex, concentrating specifically on written and unspoken laws that governed intimacy between freeborn men.

When he is finished, Jedediah’s arms are back to being crossed.

Jedediah stares blankly. He blinks slowly. Then shakes his head. He rubs at his temples.

Looking down, he attempts to tick the different variations of male-on-male roles in Roman society off on his fingers one by one. He stumbles through them slowly.

Embarrassment adds a bright bloom of color to Jedediah’s cheeks. The deep blush races over his skin, coloring its way down his exposed throat and toward the delightful mysteries hidden inside his blue shirt.

He clears his throat.

Squinting, he asks a little weakly, “Um. Oct?”

Octavius tilts his head. “Hmm?”

Jedediah wets his lips. “How did we get on this topic again?”

“My men. Tiberius and Marcus.”

Jedediah pinches the bridge of his nose. He gets up and paces. Then waves his hand. “Right, right.”

Jedediah lets out a slow breath. He coughs, sets back down, and then runs a hand through his hair with a frown.

He loosens his shirt collar.

Octavius opens his mouth to further explain, and Jedediah’s eyes grow comically wide. Shaking his head frantically, he lifts his palms. “No, no! We’re good. Honest. I gotcha!”

* * *

_An indeterminable time later…_

“Gender has no basis in the choice of partner. That is as long as one man's pleasure does not encroach on another man's integrity.”

Jedediah rolls his wrist in a vague gesture. “As long as the man on bottom…”

“Isn’t freeborn,” Octavius finishes slowly, patiently. “If he is not a freeborn citizen, then he is free to be penetrated. Otherwise, they are considered less than a man and unvirtuous.”

Jedediah appears faint. Eyes blown wide, he sways in his chair in a slight swoon. His pupils are tiny pinpricks. He shakes so minutely that the only physical sign of upset comes from his hair. It’s vibrating.

And then his brow knits together.

Shaking his head, he snaps out of his traumatized state.

Then he blinks. And bounds from his chair.

“Wait a minute. Hold it a sec!” He points accusingly. “You wanna plow me! If I let you —” he pauses to wet his lips. He shakes his head — “I ain’t no dainty flower, Oct,” he warns. “If I let you do ta’ me what ya wanna do…” He rubs at his forehead. “Wouldn't that make me less of a man ta’ you?”

Octavius waves his hand. By his reckoning, they have strayed off topic.

Reasonably, he says, “You don’t count.”

Jedediah’s eyes zip to Octavius. “Gee, Oct,” he says a little too flippantly. He chews on the corner of his lip. Turning his face away, he combs his fingers through his hair and takes a deep breath. He folds his arms protectively over his heart. “I appreciate that. Real nice. Thanks.” His entire being radiates hurt.

“Sweetheart...” Octavius begins again even more reasonably.

Recognizing his blunder and the unintentional pain he’s caused, he strives to make amends. He goes especially slowly, patiently, making a supreme effort not to appear as though he's talking down to Jedediah in the process. He has no wish to cause further upset.

“You are not a citizen of Rome. You are not governed by its laws. Therefore, all that I’m explaining has no bearing on what we may or may not do together. I have the highest regard for you as a leader. As my friend. And as a man. That will not change. Regardless.”

Jedediah stares at him blankly, giving him a cautious sideways glance. He appears less than convinced.

Octavius recognizes the hypocrisy in his culture and acknowledges the double standard.

He also realizes he may have been a little too forthcoming in Jedediah’s education of Roman society.

* * *

_Several nights later_ …

“Would it hurt?”

Octavius lifts his head. Back in the stocks, he’d been staring at Jedediah’s boots, feeling curiously detached from reality.

He still does not know what he’s going to do about the Tiberius and Marcus problem. They have been conspicuously absent of late. And Octavius has not been in a good humor. He’s been acting up, spending his nights purposely pushing Jedediah’s buttons and intentionally getting himself thrown in the pillory so he can avoid the matter.

By his estimation, it is a far better alternative than dealing out the kind of justice his culture demands. He has not made a public spectacle of them, nor has he confronted them over what he witnessed, hoping the threat of redress will keep the lovers — at the very best — apart. Or — at the very least — discreet.

When dalliances between freeborn males were discovered, they were publicly disgraced.

Roman soldiers, on the other hand, were lifted to a much higher standard. Thus, when they engaged in such behavior with one another, and were discovered, the punishment was so much more severe.

Death.

By stoning, by cudgel, or by fire.

Unlike the time when the Romans were all drugged by the Mayans and had no idea what they were doing, Tiberius’s and Marcus’s behavior has been entirely willful. They were completely cognizant of their own actions. They were fully aware of Roman laws. Were aware of the dangers. And chose to ignore them.

_For love._

Snapping out of his daze, Octavius watches Jedediah slowly rise from his chair. His arms are folded protectively over his chest as he begins pacing.

A crease lines Octavius’s brow. He blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Would it hurt?” Jedediah repeats.

Nose scrunching, Octavius blinks again. He realizes his attention must have strayed. It’s been happening a lot lately.

Within the confines of the stocks, he angles his head, following Jedediah’s erratic movements. “Would what hurt, darling?

Jedediah halts. Wets his lips. He looks this way and that, gaze darting. Bashful. Strands of his hair vibrate. Chaotic energy forcibly contained. “Gettin’ poked. Would it hurt?”

Octavius stills.

Startled, he instantly sobers. All worries over Tiberius and Marcus dissipate like a puff of smoke.

He stares at Jedediah, who begins pacing again in ever tighter circles.

“Are you speaking generally, or about us?”

Abruptly defensive, Jedediah stops pacing. Whirling, he rolls his head in aggravation. “I don’t know!”

Octavius watches him as he begins pacing once again.  

After a few moments, Octavius shudders and breathes deeply, attempting to center himself.

He truly despises that word. _Poke._ It is such a vulgar term, in sharp contrast with what he wishes to do with Jedediah.

_He wants to make love._

Swallowing, he says, “I’ve never…” He wets his lips. “I’ve never allowed anyone to...breach me. I am Roman nobility.” As Octavius has explained with their previous talks. He was at the top of the hierarchical food chain, so to speak.

He watches Jedediah, arms still folded, eyeing him with some caution as he paces.

The heels of Jedediah’s boots _clack_ against the platform as he moves.

“As for my own dalliances.” Octavius darts his eyes. Then closes them, feeling a rush of guilt. He gulps for air. “There were times I was not always careful or considerate.” In his mind’s eye, he sees the faces of those who only sought to use him for his political and familial connections. His power. Influence. Never love. He’d wanted to punish them.

_Because he knew._

He turns his attention back to Jedediah who is wearing a hole in the boarded platform with all of his pacing. “I am not proud of my actions now,” he says, glancing up. “But with you I would be attentive. And gentle.”

Jedediah paces for several more moments, aggravated.

As suddenly as he sprang to his feet, he plops back down in his chair, watching Octavius warily.

He says nothing and Octavius cannot read his gaze.

There is a sense of finality about his silence. The conversation is over for the night.

* * *

_And so it goes…_

* * *

_Several nights later..._

Octavius attempts to scratch his forehead within the confines of the pillory.

Frustrated, he grimaces and jerks in his bonds.

After a few moments of struggle, he tires. His head hangs forward.

He’s beginning to think that continuing to push Jedediah’s buttons is not the best way to handle this crisis.

The fun of their stockade dates is plummeting.

Octavius has not been flirting and Jedediah isn’t amused. Although, Octavius is finding it increasingly difficult to stop. Aggravation has always been a component of their friendship. And courtship.

Granted, the courtship hasn’t been a priority of late. His own fault. He hasn’t been able to settle his mind on any one solution to the Tiberius and Marcus situation, except willful denial. The problem is not happening. It does not exist. However, should the lovers be discovered by the others…

Octavius will have to act.

He cringes, resigned. His hand trembles with anxiety.

Typically, he isn’t this indecisive, but he knows the answer. He simply does not want to accept it.

Death.

And not a merciful one.

His mind and heart are at odds. His conscience is on fire, warring with his sense of honor, common decency, and what he considers right and wrong.

He clenches his eyes shut until galaxies whirl and spiral out of control. To get ahold of himself, he thumps his head against the hinged board behind him.

He hears the telltale scrape of a chair.

Instantly, Jedediah is beside him. “Stop.” He lifts his gloved hand, wedging it between the board and Octavius’s skull.

Octavius stares through him, unseeing for a moment. He is not well. He cannot even remember what he’s done to get himself locked in the stocks this time. He hasn’t eaten in…

Well. He honestly cannot recall.

Even before his discovery of Tiberius and Marcus, Octavius was apathetic and indifferent to food.

He barely ate. His own preference. For his own reasons.

Abruptly dizzy, his head droops in a near-swoon.

Jedediah squats down, chewing a corner of his bottom lip worriedly. “Ockie. Ya can’t keep going on like this. You're makin’ yourself sick.”

Octavius shakes his head. His breath quickens. “I must think. This must get sorted.”

He whispers quietly to himself, reverting to Latin, working desperately to find a loophole for the two lovers. There is none. Only death.

An oink breaks Octavius’s concentration.

He opens his eyes and glances down at the death pig. It grunts happily at him, coming up to wag his tail.

Assassin rubs between his legs like a cat before plopping himself down loyally at his feet.

Jedediah glances down at the piglet.

The death pig peers up at Jedediah, tilting its head. It grunts, signaling its desire to be fed. It wags its tail hopefully.

Jedediah brings his gaze back to Octavius. A frown line appears between his eyebrows. He blinks. After a beat, his lips part in a silent _oh._

“Gimme a minute, will ya?” He pats Octavius’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”

The wind ruffles Octavius’s hair as Jedediah steps off the platform.

Excited, Assassin takes off, scampering after him.

* * *

_An indeterminable time later…_

The next time Octavius lifts his head, Jedediah is crouched before a bonfire he’s built a few paces from the pillory. He holds a large skillet by its handle, heating it above the blaze.  

Confused, Octavius angles his head. “I thought you said you were leaving?”

Jedediah peers over his shoulder. Smiles. “Hey, you,” he says softly. “I just got back. How ya doing?”

Octavius pauses to think about it. “I’m miserable.”

A slow smile curves Jedediah's mouth, those beautiful blue eyes glinting with good humor. The skin around his eyes crinkles and he turns his attention back to the fire, making a noncommittal noise.

Interested, Octavius perks up and asks, “What are you doing?”

Jedediah pushes the contents of his skillet around with an over large spoon. “Makin’ dinner.” He angles his head to see past his Stetson. “Hungry?”

Octavius’s belly does a flip-flop. He pulls a face. “No.”

Jedediah’s blue eyes cloud over. Then he blinks and focuses his attention back on the contents of his skillet. “Well, I am.”

* * *

_A couple hours later…_

Jedediah plates his meal, doling out a heaping portion. He fans the steaming-hot, white and brown liquidy mass with his hand. “Mmmm…”

The smell wafts Octavius’s way. His mouth waters involuntarily while his stomach makes an unhappy rumble.

Octavius takes one look at the concoction and wrinkles his nose. His lips draw back from his teeth in a snarl of revulsion. His stomach heaves.

“Revolting. That looks absolutely disgusting.” He frowns, both entranced and suspicious of the plate. “What is it?”

“It’s good eatin’.”

Octavius highly doubts this. He cranes his neck. “Yes, but what is it?”

Jedediah takes an experimental bite. He moves it around in his mouth thoughtfully. “Hmm. Needs more salt.” He takes salt from a burlap pouch, salts the dish, adding a bit of pepper from another pouch. Then he pulls an extra tin plate out of his satchel and fills it up.

He climbs the platform and sets the plates down so he can pull his chair close to Octavius. Picking up one of the plates, he holds it under Octavius’s nose.

Octavius flinches away. He is weak, starved, and emotionally drained, but —

“That looks absolutely vile.”

Jedediah huffs. “There ya are,” he teases.

Octavius closes his eyes. His stomach rolls in an unrelenting scream of hunger, but he refuses to look at the dish.

_He must think!_

“You gotta eat.” Jedediah’s tone is colored by a faint smile. “Then you can think. Come on.”

Octavius closes his mouth tightly. He shakes his head.

Frustrated, Jedediah twirls the spoon around his tin, mouth pursed in concentration. Then he stabs his spoon into the concoction as though he’s envisioning Octavius’s head on the platter.

He digs into his portion, blowing on another hot globule of food before rolling it around in his mouth. “Mmm-mmm. You should try it. It’s good,” he sing-songs. “Promise.”

Octavius stares at him impassively. “You never answered my question. What is it?”

Jedediah looks down at his tin. He wipes his mouth with his finger. “Biscuits and sausage gravy.”

Startled, Octavius drops his gaze from Jedediah’s face to the plate.

A cold bolt of unnameable horror jolts through him.

Eyes wide with trepidation, he says, “Sausage?” Suspicious, he watches Jedediah take another bite. His stomach rolls. “Where did you get the meat?”

Jedediah stops eating. His gaze goes vague as though in confusion. He glances down at the floor, biting his bottom lip. After a few more moments of silent contemplation, with him staring off into space, he lifts his head and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Octavius’s eyes zip back toward the plate.

Just as he thinks he’s going to gag, Assassin pokes his head between Jedediah’s legs. He grunts, darting excitedly for Octavius’s plate.

Jedediah instantly snatches it from the platform.

Octavius squeezes his eyes shut at the sight of his pet, breath catching. They flutter open.

Relieved, his eyes fill.

Jedediah shoos the piglet from Octavius’s meal. “Not yours,” he says sternly.

He quickly digs into his satchel and pulls out a biscuit he’d wrapped in a handkerchief.

Instantly having a rapt audience, he wags his finger at the animal. “I know it ain’t your normal diet of apples, and all. But I gotta make due cause I got no fruit. You need to go talk to your daddy.”

Octavius shakes his head. “I am not his father.”

Aggravated, Jedediah says, “You’re the closest he’s got. So man up.”

Octavius hums, making a noncommittal sound as Jedediah throws the biscuit several paces away.

Assassin squeals excitedly and scampers off after it.

Picking up Octavius’s plate, Jedediah stirs the contents. With his spoon, he holds a bite out for Octavius.  He blows on it to cool it down. “You need to eat.”

Bile rises in Octavius throat, but he swallows down the burning, metallic taste. “No.”

Jedediah lets loose a loud breath and runs a hand over his eyes. He sits back, frustrated. When the assassin pig returns, he reaches into his satchel and tosses another biscuit as far as he can.

Assassin goes scrambling off until he’s a mere speck on the horizon.

* * *

_Minutes later…_

Octavius opens his eyes. Jedediah is waving the spoon in front of his nose.

“Here comes the choo-choo…”

Jedediah angles his spoon, waving it too and fro.

“Ch...ch...ch…ch…”

Just as Octavius thinks Jedediah is going to shove the spoon down Octavius’s throat, Jedediah changes course and takes a bite for himself.

He stirs his spoon, blows on it, and then holds it up.

Octavius follows the movement of the spoon with his eyes. It is hypnotic.

“Ch...ch...ch...chugalugga-chugalugga...choo-choo!” Jedediah pulls an invisible cord — “Toot-toot!”

He does this several times, making train noises as he waves the spoon in front of Octavius.

The absurdity of Jedediah’s antics pulls an involuntary chuckle from Octavius’s throat. A spark of humor dances in his gaze.

He glances down.

Jedediah has finished his portion and is working on Octavius’s plate.

Octavius focuses on the food, intrigued. He lifts his eyes.

Feeling a hollow twinge of hunger, he watches Jedediah swirl the spoon in the gravy again, wave it around enticingly, and then take another mouthful for himself.

He stirs the spoon, blows on it, and then offers Octavius a bite.

His expression offers no rebuke.

“Eat.”

Giving in to the hunger and Jedediah's stern look, Octavius slowly opens his mouth and takes a bite.

A burst of flavor explodes on his palate.

His eyes light up and he makes a pleased, involuntary moan. Creamy and savory, the gravy is like heaven. The instant the warm food touches his tongue, the pain in his temple fades and the knots in his stomach disappear.

Jedediah grins. He levels his gaze at Octavius, fond and wistful. “Told ya it was good eatin’.”

“It _is_ good.”

“I made it from scratch.”

Octavius arches an eyebrow and watches Jedediah swirl the spoon around in the gravy. He blows on it. Then Octavius is offered another bite.

Octavius opens his mouth, accepting the food. He savors it, closing his eyes.

If he concentrates, really concentrates, he can just make out a faint trace of Jedediah on the spoon. Almost like a kiss.

They repeat the process until Octavius’s plate is empty, and then Jedediah goes over to refill the tin. Like before, Jedediah takes a bite, and then, without wiping the spoon, he offers Octavius the next bite.

* * *

_A little while later…_

Jedediah tears a biscuit into pieces, dipping it in the remaining gravy. He holds a piece out for Octavius.

Opening his mouth, Octavius takes the bite from Jedediah’s fingertips, pointedly ignoring the sparks he feels prickling just under the surface of his skin at the contact.

Jedediah leans forward and Octavius mentally vibrates, instinctively gravitating toward Jedediah as much as possible within the confines of his bonds.

It takes everything in Octavius not to make an obscene spectacle of himself by flicking his tongue and licking those fingers clean. The gloves are off, and those fingers are so very tempting. He focuses on Jedediah’s hands. A little too intensely.

As though reading Octavius’s mind, Jedediah blushes. Hard. Unsettled, he drops his hand, wiping the backs of his fingers against his leather breeches.

Clearing his throat, he swiftly changes the subject. “So what are ya gonna do?”

The question brings Octavius crashing back to reality. He blows out a breath. “I don’t know.”

“What are the options?”

“Rome demands its soldiers show self-discipline in matters of sex.” Octavius flicks his gaze and sees Jedediah blush and glance down at his plate. _Bless him._ He continues, “Sex among fellow officers is a violation of military discipline. It is punished by death.”

Jedediah dips his eyes down, focusing on the plate in his lap. “Why?”

“Because for a freeborn, _Roman_ male, being willingly penetrated by another means the surrendering of his manhood. For us, penetration signifies defeat. It is to be conquered. The worst fate to befall a Roman. Therefore a relationship between two soldiers would be illegal. As it would put one of the officers in a position to be penetrated, which destroys virtus, the masculine virtue of a warrior.”

“Oh, God. That word…” Jedediah pulls at his hair and he hurriedly gets up. He forgets the tin that had been in his lap. It bangs on the floor as he springs from his chair. He walks fast. Then slowly. Then back to fast.

Octavius watches quietly. “Which word, darling?”

“Pene—pene—” Jedediah grimaces. He rubs at his temples. “Gah! I can’t say it!”

Octavius watches as Jedediah quickens his pace - back and forth - across the platform. If Jedediah cannot even say the word, this does not bode well for their love life.

Arms crossed protectively over his chest, Jedediah only picks up speed.

“But what if…” He stops. Turns. Twists. Stops. His blush has not faded. It burns brighter with each passing moment of silence.

Octavius continues watching Jedediah pace with mounting concern. “‘Diah?”

At the sound of Octavius’s voice, Jedediah halts. He takes in a deep breath. Hip cocked, he tucks his thumbs in his pockets, avoiding Octavius’s eyes. He tugs a handful of his neckerchief and shirt collar, swallowing.“What if…”

He trails off.

Octavius angles his head. “Yes, my love?”

Jedediah lifts his eyes. “What if I…” He glances down, wets his lips. “What if one day I wanted ta’ poke you?”

Octavius stills, freezing in place, eyes growing uncommonly wide.

He slinks back as much as he can against the hinged board, shrinking into himself in apprehension like a startled turtle.

* * *

_An indeterminable time later…_

They’ve switched topics because Octavius almost hyperventilated in his bonds and Jedediah was too mortified to continue his line of questioning.

So they’ve focused their entire attention back to only discussing the Tiberius and Marcus debacle.

A few paces away, Assassin tosses his biscuit high in the air and catches it. He whips his head to the side and tosses the biscuit again. Squealing, he scampers off after it.

Octavius and Jedediah watch his antics for a few moments in silence.

Jedediah dips the one remaining biscuit into the last dregs of gravy in the skillet that now rests on his knees. “Open to a suggestion?”

Octavius lifts his eyes. He says nothing, but he’s listening.

Tearing the biscuit into even smaller bites, Jedediah swirls the bread around.

He shrugs, taking his time.

Eyes cast down, he finally says, “You're going about this like the law is written in stone. Like it ain't fluid. Laws change with the times. They change to respond to the needs of the people.” He glances up. His gaze is piercing. “Do ya like the law as it stands right now?

Octavius shakes his head, closes his eyes. “No.”

“Well, baby blue. You're the emperor, aincha? If ya don’t like the laws that govern your folk. Change ‘em.”

Octavius’s eyes zip over Jedediah’s face, gaze softening. His sweet little church mouse. “That would never work.”

Jedediah stops chewing and looks up. He eyes Octavius squarely. “Why not?”

Why not, indeed.

Octavius considers.

He lifts his chin.

Jedediah sets the skillet down and leans forward. “This is change. Adapt with me.”

Octavius flicks his gaze, peering into Jedediah’s eyes.

Jedediah scoots closer in his chair and taps two fingers against Octavius’s breastplate.

Each tap lands directly over his heart.

“Break the glass, Ockie. Break the glass…”

* * *

_Weeks later..._

“That’s it! You’re goin’ in the stockade!”

Octavius is lifted high over Jedediah’s shoulder. He angles his head, bouncing as he is carried. “But I don’t want to go into the stockade!”

Jedediah smacks Octavius on the thigh. “Hush, you. You’re going!”

And then he is bounced higher.

Losing his balance, Octavius dips forward, out of control. Tucking his head, he grips Jedediah for dear life, holding onto that beloved body tight in an almost-hug.

He lifts his leg and ankle coyly.

* * *

_Weeks later…_

In a panic, Octavius whips the canvas flaps of Jedediah’s tent apart, enough to allow him entry. He spies his beloved sitting in a chair, and quickly calls, “Hide me!”

Jane is out of the Coliseum and on the loose. On the prowl. And Black Bart is indisposed. One-eyed Charley is off swashbuckling. And Titus —

Well, Octavius has no idea where Titus has scarpered off to at present.

Octavius zips around the back of Jedediah’s chair, hunkering low.

Jedediah lifts his attention from his journal to crane his neck.

Settled in for the night, his gloves are off. His neckerchief is off. Vest. Off.

Peering over his shoulder, he says, “Well, howdy, to you, too!” He tilts his head, frowning. “Jane?”

Octavius nods once and clutches Jedediah’s flimsy blue shirt, pulling Jedediah back tight against him. “Jane.”

Jedediah goes back to writing. “Maybe if ya said you weren’t interested?”

Octavius exhales, annoyed. “I informed her I was practically married. She chased me up a rope.”

Jedediah turns his attention to his journal. He covers his mouth with his hand. He lets out short puffs of breath, indicating he is snickering behind his palm.

“This is not amusing! The woman is a menace. I insist you put her to work on the railroad. She needs a hobby.”

“She’s found her hobby.” Jedediah turns his head. “Ya know she only chases you around so you’ll come runnin’ in here. She’s herdin’ ya. And you’re playin’ right into her hand. Falling for it. Hook, line, and sinker. Relax.”

Octavius snorts, and hunkers down even further when he hears the tromping of boots outside. “There is no need to herd me. I will find my way in here regardless.” He lifts his chin grandly. Sniffs. _“I_ am highly motivated.”

Jedediah rolls his eyes and goes back to writing, pointedly ignoring Octavius. He may appear aggravated, but his manner radiates a calmness, a contentedness, that indicates he is happy with the company.

There is a snap outside their tent and Octavius shrieks, pulling Jedediah out of his chair.

Journal and writing materials go flying as the chair legs buckle.

Octavius finds his arms full of flailing cowboy. He holds on tight, taking the brunt of the impact with the ground.

 _“Uhff!”_ he says, wheezing a little as the breath is knocked out of him.

Jedediah stares, bare hand on Octavius’s shoulder, attempting to brace himself. His blue eyes register shock.

Octavius’s hand slowly smooths down the blue shirt on Jedediah's warm back, head tilting to gaze at his face.

He laughs softly. A little sheepishly. Then realizes a little belatedly their mouths are inches apart.

Jedediah is still.

Octavius stops laughing, feeling the mood shift, cognizant of the quiet. His heart begins thumping wildly in his chest.

Their breathing deepens. Then mingles.

Biting his lip, Octavius lowers his eyes. He watches, fascinated, as Jedediah wets his bottom lip.

He lifts his gaze, feeling a powerful yearning and slowly angles his jaw.

With a soft hum, he risks bumping the tip of his nose against Jedediah’s, keeping their lips a mere breath away.

Swearing he felt Jedediah lean forward, he grins languidly. Breathless laughter. He plucks delicately at the top buttons on Jedediah’s shirt, flicking his gaze up.

He might have heard a quiet moan of frustration, nature taking its course as Jedediah lowers his gaze to Octavius’s mouth. Jedediah’s eyes settle there and do not move. His gaze smolders. A true cowboy smolder.

Which in turn, causes Octavius’s eyelids to lower. He gives into sensation with a soft breath, allowing himself to feel the solid weight on top of him, and is astonished to find it exceedingly pleasant.

Jedediah’s thumb twitches, brushing lightly against Octavius’s neck. It could be explained away as nothing more than a mere muscle spasm, but Octavius believes this isn’t the case.

With a soft gasp, Octavius feels Jedediah shift, his knee coming between Octavius's thighs, parting them.

He slowly bends his knees, opening his legs in invitation and presses his lips to Jedediah's temple with focused intensity.

He is pleased when Jedediah breathes out a raspy sigh, eyes glazing over as Octavius’s hands tangle in his hair. His gaze seems to be igniting with an inner fire.

Slowly, Octavius lifts his head to gently bump their noses together.

They share breath.

 _“You are invited,”_ Octavius murmurs, giving implicit permission for Jedediah to touch him where he will. That it is alright.

When Octavius draws back, he watches as Jedediah’s eyes flutter open. Jedediah’s other hand, the one not on Octavius’s shoulder, twitches near Octavius’s leg, lifting slightly to skim over his outer thigh.

The touch is featherlight. A caress. There is no other word for it.

Jedediah lowers his eyes and brushes his thumb lightly over Octavius’s knee, then slides his palm back up, seemingly fascinated.

It is slow and infinitely sweet.

Attentive in a way Octavius is not accustomed to.

The most intimate part of him awakens at this gentle exploration. A shudder courses through him when he feels an answering swelling, and realizes he is not the only one being supremely affected.

Jedediah startles, eyes wide.

He cries out, sucking in a rasping breath.

Stiffening in alarm, he makes a devastated sound and clenches his eyes shut. His fingers clamp down hard on Octavius’s shoulder. His thigh.

He trembles.

“It is perfectly alright,” Octavius soothes, sounding breathless to his own ears. His fingers run down the length of Jedediah’s spine, gentling him. “There is nothing to fear. This is simply your body reacting. It knows who it is with.”

Tilting his hips up, he relishes the sound of Jedediah’s soft hitching breath, and then pushes Jedediah back just enough to hike the leather straps of his ornamental pteruges up to his waist.

He is having difficulty.

Jedediah clings to him, head tucked, deeply embarrassed, stubborn, and yet still being biologically driven to grind down.

Octavius struggles getting the straps up and out of the way.

At last, getting the pteruges sorted, he breathes a sigh of relief, laughing softly.

He leans back, running his hands along Jedediah’s shoulder blades, down his spine. “Now. We’ll begin. Slowly.”  

Jedediah rises up on his elbows, gaze fixing on the very firm bulge in Octavius’s flimsy, light gray undergarments. Entirely focused. Fascinated again.

His irises have become thin blue rings around overlarge pupils.

“Come here,” Octavius breathes. He gently tugs Jedediah back down.

His hand moves from Jedediah’s back, to his hips. Fingers fanning out, they drift over the small of his back, settling over his rump.

He pulls him closer.

Jedediah shudders. He lets out a surprised whimper, then groans softly, sounding almost entirely unrecognizable.

He lifts his hips, then abruptly grinds down.

Octavius is seeing stars.

Outside there is a cavalcade of voices, the tromp of hooves, and the telltale squeak of wagon wheels.

A sudden hush, an absolute stillness, fills the tent as it passes by.

And just like that, the spell is broken.

Jedediah’s gaze flickers. Shaking his head, he closes his eyes. They fly open.

His gaze no longer smolders. They are no longer glazed over, but clear.

Jedediah’s face burns redder and brighter. Heat climbs up his neck.

Chuckling, Octavius rubs Jedediah's back. His voice dips into a lower register. “Well. I certainly enjoyed where that was heading.”

Jedediah blinks again. Once more. His face settles into a mask, tone sharpening into a growl. “You _always_ enjoy where we’re headin’. With me. Homeless. My chair. First my tent and now my chair.” His hands ball into tight, trembling fists. “Ya broke my dad-gum chair!”

Well, this is escalating rather quickly, and not in the way Octavius had been hopeful it would go.

Jedediah glares at him, making quiet, screaming noises in the back of his throat. He points, whisper-shouting, “Y-you! You're...you're goin’ in the stockade!”

* * *

_Weeks later..._

Back in the stockade, Octavius rattles the chains connected to the shackles on his wrists.

Sometimes he thinks this mating ritual is for the birds.

Jedediah paces back and forth, boots clacking against the wooden platform. The wind ruffles his hair, curling the tips in invitation. The neckerchief is on point. The flimsy blue shirt and vest accentuate the curve of Jedediah’s back. Even in spite of those high-waisted pin-striped trousers Jedediah insists upon wearing, those hypnotic brown leather breeches hug Jedediah’s rump in all the right places.

Octavius considers, weighing the pros against the cons of constantly being locked in the stockade. The view is tremendous.

He squints, the manufactured sun in his eyes. Sheepishly, he waves at Jedediah as far as the restraints will allow him to.

Jedediah whirls, feet spread wide apart, shaking fists down at his sides.

He bounces on the balls of his feet a bundle of frenetic energy.

Octavius grins broadly, all teeth. He loves aggravating Jedediah. Loves watching the calm veneer melt and the real Jedediah emerge.

Feisty. Untamed. Spirited. Wild.

He is magnificent.

Octavius watches Jedediah pace with love lights shining in his eyes and a wicked grin plastered to his face as Jedediah begins ranting.

* * *

_Hours later…_

Temper abated, Jedediah plates their food. Two dishes. Octavius doesn’t know why. They always wind up sharing from the same tin.

Octavius’s nose scrunches despite the pleasant aroma. He eyes the golden brown, steaming, round shapes warily. “What is it?”

 _“Ta-da!”_ Jedediah lifts his plate proudly. With flourish he models with the dish, sweeping his arm wide. “As promised. Pancakes!”

Octavius laughs despite himself at Jedediah’s antics, a gleam of amusement in his gaze. Jedediah always gets tremendously excited when he cooks. And never more so than when he’s showing off a brand new dish he’s prepared.

Baby rumbles, grinning her eternal smile, tilting her head to the side. A large red and white checkered tablecloth Jedediah has sewn together for her is tied to a neck prong of her skeleton.

Sweet Pea neighs, tapping her hoof, a sugar cube in her tin.

Assassin oinks. He angles his head proudly. There is a checkered bib tied around his neck and a pancake on his plate.

Their family is all assembled. Almost.

Octavius frowns. “Where are the twins?”

Jedediah’s expression falls. He hooks his thumb. “Cathouse.”

Octavius shakes his head. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Pity.”

Shrugging, Jedediah airily says, “Yeah. Well, what can ya do? Buy ‘em books and buy ‘em books. What do they wanna do? Eat the pages.”

Octavius hums softly. “Sounds like they’ve been spending far too much time in the company of the Huns.”

Jedediah nods. He blows out a breath. “Try and raise ‘em right. And then they go hangin’ out with the wrong crowd. Peer pressure.”

He ambles over, dragging over his new chair.

This chair is sturdier. Made of iron. Roman built. It is not going anywhere.

It also makes an unholy squeal as it is dragged across the boards. Octavius winces, eardrums vibrating uncomfortably.

Jedediah adds a dollop of butter to both plates of pancakes and pours syrup over them. Cutting into his own pancake, he takes a bite. “Mmm-mmm.” He chews. Swallows. Then offers Octavius a piece.

Octavius takes it. He rolls the fluffy, sugary morsel in his mouth, eyes lighting up.

Jedediah lifts both his eyebrows. He angles his head to see past his Stetson. “Good, huh?”

“Exquisite.”

Jedediah beams.

* * *

_Hours later…_

“Does Baby really have to wait until she’s forty to start courtin’?”

Belly full of pancakes, Jedediah sits on his rump. He leans his skull against the stockade. His arms are folded, legs crossed at the ankle as he tips his head back to peer at Octavius upside down.

Octavius awakens from his sugar coma. He perks up, replaying the question. Lifting his chin, he says simply, “Yes.”

Jedediah hums. “Shame.” He angles his head, eyeing Octavius up and down. “Hey. You want out of there?”

Octavius considers this. He jingles his chains experimentally and decides he is content. Besides, a good many heart-to-heart conversations have been had in the stockade. He informs Jedediah of this.

Jedediah hums again. “We have a strange life,” he muses, and rests his head back against the pillars. “Tell me when ya get tired.”

After a few minutes of companionable silence, he twists around and asks, “Would thirty-five work?”

Octavius frowns. “For what?”

“Baby. When she can spark.”

Octavius shakes his head. Then he thinks about it. Alarmed, he asks, “Why are we negotiating when our child may entertain suitors?”  

Jedediah shrugs. “I don’t know. Seems like we should.” He glances up. “When did you start dating?”

Octavius flicks his gaze. “I never dated.”

Squinting, Jedediah rolls his head. “Ah, come on!”

“It is the truth. I never dated. Not as you know it. There were dalliances. And marriage alliances. My first marriage went unconsummated and was annulled. The second was to cement a political alliance.” He hesitates, and then his eyes drift to the far wall. “The third time I married for love.”

Jedediah glances up. He stares, eyes blown wide. “You were married three times?” His voice is a little high-pitched.

Octavius lifts his eyebrows. “Hmm.”

Jedediah turns his body so he can lean back against the stockade once again. He thumps his head.

After a beat, he asks quietly, “Which one produced Julia?”

“The second.”

There is a brief pause. Jedediah wets his lips. “What was her name?”

“Scribonia.”

Jedediah doesn’t say anything.

“It was not a happy marriage,” Octavius supplies when the silence stretches too long.

There is more heavy silence.

“If we were married, I’d be your fourth.”

Octavius whips his head. He watches Jedediah for a long moment. Jedediah does not look up, so Octavius simply nods. “Correct.”

“You’d be my first.”

Octavius nods again, slowly.

“We already have four kids and a pig.”

Octavius bursts out laughing. The skin around his eyes crinkles. He cannot help it. The statement had been entirely unexpected. If his hands could reach his face, he’d be covering his mouth, laughing uncontrollably into his palm.

* * *

_A little while later…_

“So. No dates, then.”

Octavius shakes his head. “No dates. There was study. Grooming. Planning. My family wished to make a man of me. They believed no Roman would take orders from a virgin. Or, be led by one. So I was persuaded to lose my virginity...early.

Jedediah angles his head. He frowns. “How early is early?”

_“Early.”_

Jedediah's lips part.

“It was with a prostitute.”

* * *

_A little while later…_

Jedediah has been uncharacteristically silent. It bothers Octavius. The quiet makes him nervous that he may have said something wrong.  

He is always so guarded and careful when he speaks of his past and the utter silence is terrifying.

Especially from Jedediah who is practically all mouth.

The silence leads him into blurting out too much information in a tone that could easily be commenting on the weather.

It is like ripping the bandage off of a wound, and a festering one at that.

The more he expounds on the matter, the quicker he talks, spilling out the entire sordid tale. His voice morphs into a higher register, squeaky and soft, sounding entirely too much like the voice of a child.

He tells Jedediah everything.

How young he was. How much he’d pleaded not to go. How he hated being there. How frightened he became. How amused they were by his reactions. How they plied him with drink to keep him calm. How awkward it was. How everything fell silent. How numb and indifferent he felt after.

How indifferent he still is. About a great many things.

It is cathartic to finally tell someone he trusts implicitly, but it’s terrible, too. Because Jedediah’s silence stretches. He doesn’t look at Octavius. He doesn’t look anywhere. Doesn’t move. Barely breathes. He simply stares straight ahead.

The silence stretches too long, and Octavius realizes that the rest of his makeshift family have left. Baby and Assassin to play. The hellbeast — he isn’t certain. And Jedediah is still silent.

Octavius cannot take it anymore. “Please. Say something.”

Finally, Jedediah angles his head. Quietly, he asks, “What do ya want me ta’ say?”

Octavius shudders. “Anything. Shout at me. Scream. I care not. As long as you still speak to me.”

Jedediah stares up, frown lines creasing his brow.

Slowly, he rises.

The cowboy boots _clack_ as he moves to stand in front of Octavius.

Desperate, Octavius peers into his eyes. Jedediah’s gaze is haunted.

After a beat, Jedediah’s eyes flick down. He wets his lips. “I reckon that explains your attitude toward —” he glances away, bobbing his head from side to side, eyes darting. “Well. You know.”

Octavius cannot help it. He huffs. _Bless the man._ His sweet little church mouse. Jedediah cannot say the word.

“Sex,” Octavius offers. “The term you are searching for is: _sex,_ Jedediah _._ ”

One would think Octavius had just smacked Jedediah in the face the way he flinches back, squawking and reeling, limbs flailing.

As though speaking the term will call down angry sex gods from the sky.

The huff of breath turns into full blown laughter. Because the reaction is genuine. Pure. And so is Jedediah. His beautiful one. His dear one. His love.

Even after hearing such vile things.

The laughter turns hysterical. He must force himself to calm down.

Unable to control himself, his laughter morphs into sobs.

His chest heaves. He blinks his eyes. They burn.

Chin quivering, he says, “I am tainted.”

Jedediah blinks, surprised by the hurt in Octavius’s voice. His gaze instantly turns vulnerable. He shakes his head. _“No.”_

“How can I give you the relationship your parents had. The one you deserve…when...I never learned how?”

Jedediah smiles. The expression is warm. His eyes glow; they shine. “You’re doin’ fine. Just fine.”

Shaking, Octavius bites his lip. “I’m afraid—”

Jedediah’s mouth cuts him off. And then, very slowly Jedediah angles his jaw.

Noses bumping, Octavius closes his eyes and feels the first tentative sweep of lips against his.

The kiss is soft. Barely there. Brushing.

It is a whisper. A ghost. A dream.

Jedediah leans into him lightly, taking his mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss.

In his life, Octavius has never experienced a kiss quite like this before. It is innocent. And, sweet. Chaste. Everything a first kiss _should_ be. And charged with more feeling than the sum of a thousand kisses from anyone else.

It hits Octavius like a shockwave.

And. then.

As abruptly as it began, Jedediah pulls away.

Octavius’s eyes flutter open, and he attempts to follow. He is held back by the hinged pillory board.  

Staring, he blinks, stunned mute and filled with a desperate yearning. His expression mirrors Jedediah’s own vulnerability from a moment before.

When he speaks, it’s in a whisper.

“I wish my first real kiss had been with you.”

Jedediah leans down again, gloved palms pressing against the board. Not to repeat the kiss, but to whisper softly, _“It was.”_

And then Jedediah’s self-defense mechanism kicks in and he is turning, vaulting off the platform, pressing his fingers to his mouth, striding off in a fast clip in a direction Octavius knows not where.

Octavius watches him go, unable to do anything else.

“I wish my first... _everything_ had been with you.”

The wind rustles the vegetation behind him, sways his pteruges from side to side. It ghosts across his face and ruffles his short hair. He hears a whisper on the wind.

_“It will be…”_

* * *

_A little while later…_

Octavius perks up when he sees a figure striding in his direction.

His eyes light up, until he notices the wrong color shirt. The wrong breeches. The hazel eyes. The perfect golden-colored hair and sun-kissed skin.  

The Adonis of the Plains.

_Silas._

His face falls.

Slowly, Silas trudges his way up the platform. Hands in his pockets, he warily edges around Octavius as though he’s afraid Octavius is going to come through the restraints after him.

“Ol’ Jed sent me up here. Something about him worried you were gonna fall asleep, hang your fool self, and die.”

Octavius huffs. “That sounds like him.” With a bit of added color.

Silas makes a noncommittal noise. He shakes his head. “Too dang thoughtful for his own good, if ya ask me. If it were up ta’ me, I'd leave ya in there. You’re about as ornery as an ol’ polecat with his tail caught in a door. Chew the heels right offa bear.”

Octavius is in too good a mood to try and decipher anything Silas says.

So, he holds still as Silas fiddles with the locks and lifts up the pillory board.

Just as Silas is jumping back out of Octavius’s way, Octavius pounces excitedly.

Suddenly overcome, he exclaims, “He kissed me!”

He pulls back from Silas, who is staring wide-eyed, mouth agape. He pulls Silas toward him in a hug.

_“He! Kissed me!”_

He lifts his head and laughs, twisting, and bouncing up and down.                    

Silas squawks, flinching as Octavius pulls him in for another celebratory bear hug. He may, in fact, be dancing.

“Dad-gum-it, boy, get hold of your damn self, ya dang fool!”

Laughing, Octavius grabs Silas's head, and plants a wet, sloppy kiss against his cheek before pulling away.

Silas gasps, hazel eyes wide. He shrieks. “Dammit, man! I’m spoken for. I gotta stay true to my harem!” He attempts to pull free. “I’m a delicate fuckin’ flower. Let go before ya break me plumb in two!”

Paludamentum whirling, Octavius spins them out of control.

* * *

_A few nights later…_

Eyes forward, Octavius marches into the Coliseum. He stops before his men.

All are assembled before him.

They stand at attention, in near perfect form, awaiting his pronouncement.

Octavius unties the chin strap from his helmet and lifts it from his head. He holds it under his arm as he paces back and forth.

Halting mid step, he suddenly whirls. His paludamentum lifts, twirling around him.

Gesturing, he casts his gaze over all of his men, his actions holding their rapt attention. He raises his voice to be heard in the back.

“It has come to my attention that matches have been made within the Roman ranks.”

At Octavius’s pronouncement, his men glance back and forth between one another anxiously. Some shout. Others vehemently deny. All gasp.

Tiberius and Marcus stand with their eyes shut. They draw their heads down, waiting for the pronouncement that ends their lives.  

“We know Roman law. We have lived and we have died adhering to Roman laws and customs.”

Octavius’s men all nod their heads amongst one another.

“We also know that Rome, as we know it is now gone. Rome is no more. It fell.”

Octavius paces. “Through whatever magic that sustains us, we have returned bereft, orphaned, and abandoned.”

Octavius moves his eyes over the masses. He paces, hands held stiffly behind his back.

“And by all appearances, we shall remain trapped in this place. For eternity.” He shakes his head, turning on his heel. Directing his gaze, he peers over all his men.

“We are never leaving this place.”

He takes a deep breath.

“Long and hard, have I pondered. I have agonized, taking into account what has been, what came after, and what will be.

"And I decree that Romans are free of these laws that put restrictions on whom we may love. And, how we may love them.

"How an individual chooses to express that love is the individual’s choice. Not Rome’s. Not mine.”

He turns on his heel.

“As long as both parties consent to the union, and are of age to properly give that consent, they will not be punished. Not by Rome. And most assuredly, not by me.”

Tiberius’s and Marcus’s heads shoot up. Stunned, their expressions are mirror images of one another.

Loud gasps erupt from the crowd and then all the soldiers are talking at once. Shouting over one another to be heard.

Normally, Octavius would not allow such undisciplined behavior to continue unchecked, but he gives his army time for the pronouncement to sink in.

After several long moments, he lifts his palm and the assembly is silenced.

He unsheathes his sword, making certain his army hears the sharp rasp of metal sliding against his scabbard.

With the sharp point to the ground, he draws a line in the sand.

“If any man believes my judgment is in error, then challenge me now.”

Gaze stern and commanding, his eyes rove over the crowd.

His men glance back and forth between one another. Some are clearly not happy, but remain silent. Others are too shocked to speak. Most drop their gazes to their sandals.

No man crosses the line.

Octavius nods. “Very well. If no man challenges me, then marry who you will.”

The Romans are all stunned into silence.

And then a cheer goes up from the back. Followed by clapping.

And then it is pandemonium.

A fierce roar spreads throughout the army as more cheers are added to the already raised voices.

The troops raise their fists high into the air in triumph.

Tiberius and Marcus look at one another.

Tentatively, Marcus lifts his hand. Tiberius glances at the upturned palm. He hesitates for a moment. Then takes it. Openly.

Slowly, others within the ranks do the same. The ones glaring at this newfound freedom whip their gazes at their fellow soldiers, watching in scandalized astonishment as mated pairs reach for their chosen partners.

Lovers launch themselves at one another, spinning each other, openly kissing for the first time, holding on to one another tightly.

Octavius arches an eyebrow. He had no idea.

Dismissing his army, he turns from the assembly with his head held aloft, wind lifting his paludamentum high and swirling it about him.

The wind whispers, sounding like the tinkling of glass shattering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: Thank you for all the happy vibes, good thoughts, and prayers for my surgery. It went very well and I am well on the road to recovery. I had a lot of good people thinking good thoughts for me and I appreciate that so very much. 
> 
> Second: Please take my trigger warnings to heart in this chapter. There is mention of past child abuse, past child sexual abuse and past non-con. I have tried to be extremely delicate, mindful, and respectful in my writing. However, I know how horrific the subject matter is regardless of how mindful and respectful I strive to be. This is the one and only chapter you will see it and nothing is explicit. (It will also be quick. And I hope to make it up to you with something very special directly following the story's mention of it. So please stick around if you can.)
> 
> Third: A special shout-out goes to my super amazing mega beta, :: cue the medieval horns:: [CuriousDinosaur.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) There were times she had to put me in a virtual wheelbarrow and push me up the hill because, once again, I got distracted by YouTube. Sometimes I have the attention span of a puppy-do- "Squirrel!" Anyway, she's amazing. Please check out her wonderful fanfiction and, if you enjoy her work, please show her some love. You can also thank her for the Ancient Roman scene involving Vedius. She found the story, I only "made it shiny." Love ya, gurl.


	22. Going Courtin', Part Five

_Weeks Later…_

The Mayans and the Americans have been intermingling. This has been coming for a very long time; there is no way to stop it.

And Octavius is not ready.

It’s true that he believes change is a sign of a strong and healthy culture; he stands by this belief wholeheartedly. However, he is always going to be cautious of this merge, considering how the Mayans first introduced themselves to the Romans.

And, to the Americans. He shivers in remembrance of what he’d thought happened, feeling a hollow ache in his belly.

Abruptly chilled, he folds his arms over his chest. “I am not ready.”

Jedediah rolls his eyes, snorting beside him.  He speaks out of the side of his mouth. “Ya know, you Roman boys didn’t exactly put your best foot forward in the beginning either. So, man up! This is happening.”  

Octavius exhales loudly, looking up toward the ceiling. He knows he’s fighting a losing battle. It does not mean he has to give in gracefully.

Assassin oinks at his feet, and Octavius grudgingly bends forward in the pew to stroke the piglet.

Jedediah turns his head and stares pointedly at Octavius, a languid smile curving his mouth. They make eye contact, and Jedediah rolls his eyes again, huffing under his breath.

Caught, Octavius stills. And then he immediately stops petting the diabolical little brute and sits up straight.

He tugs at the ends of his ornamental pteruges uncomfortably and frowns, crossing his arms back over his chest.

He’s in church. Church! He blames Jedediah.

Not long after the intermingling, the first Mayan and American couple began their own journey with a gift of a red scarf.

And now matters have progressed to the point of no return. Jedediah is making him attend the wedding. To represent. His helmet has been removed out of respect, as has Jedediah’s Stetson. They sit in the back row of the sanctuary because Octavius refused to go further inside the building.

Octavius is surprised he hasn’t burst into flames.

With one leg crossed over his knee, he attempts to remain cool and aloof, and not look around him, even though each new wall hanging he sees fascinates him. He keeps his teeth tightly ground to stop himself from asking questions.

The ceremony began outside so Baby could participate and be the “flower girl.”

She was beautiful with a little white paludamentum draped over her neck that Jedediah had painstakingly sewed together for her. And she, on her own, had plucked the flowers from somewhere within the museum, grinding them down with her teeth so they would be small enough for the miniatures to enjoy.

It rained flowers.

Jedediah still has some in his hair. Octavius’s fingers twitch to pluck them out. He restrains himself. Barely.

The piglet ran around with a specially rigged harness so that he could serve as “ring bearer.” The rings were tied to the harness straps. Also Jedediah’s handiwork, because as Jedediah would say, _“Why not?”_

Assassin looks adorable and is acting well behaved during the ceremony. Although, Octavius refuses to admit either of these things out loud.

The ceremony is a mishmosh of Mayan, Chinese, and American culture all blending together. The couple wears a mixture of white and red, a marbling effect, signifying the intermingling of the Chinese and Mayan cultures. White for the Mayan side, and red for the Chinese.

They are attended by a Mayan priest who swirls incense. His words and movements are full of mysticism and magic, and completely incomprehensible to Octavius’s Roman sensibilities.

For some odd reason, Silas stands up front with the priest. He is subdued for once. Octavius should ask; he doesn’t.

These customs are all foreign to him, and at the same time, familiar. The rings, of course, are commonplace for Romans. Usually made of lead. They are typically gifted before the marriage ceremony and not during it, however.

Octavius raises his chin. He sniffs, deeming the Roman way better on principle.

Jedediah swivels his head, speaking out of the side of his mouth again. “Stop your poutin’.”

Octavius purses his lips. “I am not pouting.”

_He is._

To divert his mind off the potential for disaster from this intermingling, he considers this marriage in all seriousness. And then he blinks, scrunching up his nose.

He tilts his head to the side, the spark of defiance in his gaze fading.

Concerned, he says, “I was merely pondering how the bride and groom intend to consummate this union when the lady is armed, quite literally, to the teeth.”

Jedediah leans over to whisper. “I’m sure they’ll make it work. It ain’t for us to figure it out anyways.”

Feeling a sympathetic twinge in his groin, Octavius continues pondering this quandary.

Still uncomfortable, he wiggles around in his seat. He arches his brow, and then leans over to whisper back, “Dearest. Truly. I hope your friend has thought this union through. Fellatio requires absolute trust. I would never allow anyone near my person with a mouthful of teeth like that.”

Jedediah squints. “What’s fellatio?”

Taken aback, Octavius blinks, unbelieving. And then his eyes are blown wide. Abruptly tickled, his breath hitches.

Jedediah elbows him hard in the side. His armor gives an ominous creak as it bends against his ribs.

“Ow!” He reaches over and pinches Jedediah’s side.

“Hey!” Jedediah winces, bouncing up and down in his seat. “Ow! _Ow!”_

Occupants in the pews in front of them swivel around in their seats and frown their disapproval. They turn back around.

Scandalized by the negative attention, Jedediah vibrates. He brings his index finger up to his lips, and whispers-shouts. “We’re in church!”

Octavius chuckles, practically falling over in the pew. It is the first time he has laughed in days.

This isn’t the only marriage ceremony he’s attended recently. He’s officiated over a multitude of Roman unions in the past weeks. It seems that half of Rome is suffering wedding fever. It's left him little time to spend with his friend or indulge in one of their stockade dates.

Octavius is tired and he’s irritable and he’s envious. And he’s anxious of a future that now includes the Mayans sharing a more interactive role in their lives, and the unknown quantity they bring with it.

And now he’s slap happy.

People turn their heads to stare at them again.

“You’re embarrassing me!” Jedediah hisses, hand over his eyes. “Act your dad-blame age!”

Octavius’s back straightens. He smiles placatingly at the various members of the wedding attendees peering at them and waves until they turn back around.

And then he lifts his head grandly and reminds himself he is in his mid-seventies. No. He’s thirty-five. They agreed. He holds a hand to his mouth in order to keep quiet. Somber. Respectful. Regal. He can be regal.

When he feels the laughter has properly subsided enough that he won’t make a spectacle of himself, he looks over at Jedediah, humor still peeking from his gaze.

Despite his crankiness and anxiety, he is still giddy over Jedediah’s kiss in the stockade. He is desperate to advance their relationship. They remain moving at a snail’s pace.  Jedediah is hyperactive on everything except romance it would seem.

This does not stop Octavius from attempting to demonstrate his affection.

Spontaneous hugs; Jedediah wiggles free. Aborted hand-grabs; Jedediah is oblivious. The subtly suave _yawn, stretch, and arm-around-the-shoulder;_ Jedediah becomes fascinated by something, and moves off at the last second. Octavius has almost lost his balance and fallen over in his attempts.

He leans over now and plants a fond kiss against Jedediah’s temple, and whispers in his ear. “I adore you.”

He has never been more earnest in his life.

Jedediah swats Octavius back to his side of the pew. “Well, I don’t adore you right now. We’re in church, for crying out loud! Now, shush.”

Octavius hums, still laughing under his breath.

“Back on the subject of fellatio. All I will advise you on the matter is this: replenish your medical supplies. They will be needed, my love. Very, very soon.” He lifts his hand to his mouth and begins chuckling quietly at the vision of his sweet little church mouse’s expression when called to act as physician to the lovebirds. And the “war wounds” he is going to have to examine and treat and learn how they came about.

Jedediah is beet red and glaring. He folds his arms over his chest. “I can’t believe you.”

Octavius leans his head on Jedediah shoulder. “Believe it, darling.”

Jedediah scrunches his shoulder up, winding his arm in a circle. “Get offa me. I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Yes, but you’ve known that for decades. And I’m still here. Even with you not knowing what fellatio is.”

It is Jedediah’s turn to pout. Which, he does. Gloriously. It appears he’s attempting to block Octavius out with a newly learned Asian meditation technique. He’s failing. He turns his head.

“Yeah? Well. _I_ know where there’s a dictionary, Mister Five Dollar Words.” He points a gloved index finger. “And when I find out, you’re gonna get it!” he whisper-shouts.

Octavius squeezes his eyes shut. He vibrates and sways in his pew. In his mirth, he makes a wet snorting sound. He lifts his chin. “I certainly hope so.”

He gives Jedediah the biggest, the most lecherous grin he can manage. He loves this man. He truly does.

Aggravation, friendship, laughter, and love. It has always been like this between them. Ever changing, but always staying precisely the same at its core.

Hand against his mouth, he trembles and laughs quietly.

His laughter is rewarded by another hard elbow to the ribs. He rocks to the side, squeaks, and curls up on the pew, spent.

Curious, Assassin rises up on his front hooves, snuffling him with a little wet nose. The death pig wags his tail hopefully and angles his head to the side, his little red, white, and blue neckerchief on full display.

Octavius scratches him behind the ear and is rewarded with a soft, happy grunt and the sound of Mayan beads jingling contentedly together.

So, perhaps having the Mayans intermingling won’t be such a terrible, traumatizing event after all.

It would appear the Romans, Americans, and Mayans already mixed cultures long ago.

* * *

_Later…_

Matters have become somewhat complicated since _The Kiss._

Octavius wouldn’t necessarily attest that Jedediah has regrets. His friend has not shown signs of reverting into himself, backpedaling, or treating Octavius differently after Octavius’s confession. However, he hasn’t shown evidence of moving forward either.

Again, hyperactive with everything in his life but romance.

So now they find themselves in a holding pattern and stuck in a perpetual loop.

It appears he and Jedediah still wish to spend time together. Work together; play together. More so now than ever before. And Octavius is typically freed from the pillory much faster during their stockade dates.

Jedediah has even put his foot down in regards to Jane and her habit of chasing Octavius around the _Hall of Miniatures._ He lifts a gloved finger and she is immediately on her best behavior.

However, Octavius can feel a difference. Each new stockade date comes with added tension. There are awkward pauses and uncomfortable silences when they are alone. And then there is a mad rush to fill the quiet as they hastily talk over one another.  

These moments are not necessarily unpleasant, _per se,_ but they have the potential for becoming so if something isn’t done.

Octavius suspects Jedediah is floundering, yes, but only in regards to his own distinct lack of self confidence. It is Octavius’s hunch Jedediah has, once again, been overthinking.

Feeling out of his depth and cast adrift, Jedediah has no idea how to broach the topic of moving forward and it’s casting a large shadow over their stockade dates.

To get them on track, Octavius invites Jedediah to the library. Back to their roots.

He feels a thrill shoot up his spine when Jedediah does not immediately argue against such an idea or make a fuss. Instead, he mulls over the suggestion thoughtfully for a few moments.

He finally agrees with a simple and quiet, “Okay.”

Jedediah toes at the ground with his boot. He slides his eyes up and appears just as relieved as Octavius feels.

Octavius lets out a breath, lips peeling back in a grin.

They beam at one another shyly.

* * *

_A little while later…_

With Baby’s assistance, the trip is almost instantaneous, and if Octavius has his way, they are never using the dust-ridden, silvery tunnels again.

Contrary to their banter at the Mayan-American wedding, once ensconced in the library, Jedediah does not immediately sprint to the nearest dictionary, and Octavius is on his very best behavior.

Instead of separating to pursue individual interests, they lie on their stomachs, legs kicked back, reading from the same book.

It is glorious.

The pair of them bump their shoulders together and duck their heads. They talk and joke and laugh. Like couples do.

* * *

_Hours later…_

Having his fill of knowledge, Jedediah rolls over on his back with a sigh. He lifts an arm to his forehead and closes his eyes.

Leaning on his side, Octavius cannot help but stare, soaking up the sight. He feels lucky to catch a glimpse of Jedediah in repose and without his guard up. Octavius could spend a lifetime watching him this way. He’s taken in by the quiet, thoughtless grace. The strength.

His own eyes also feel heavy.

He yawns silently behind his hand, wanting to scoot closer and lie beside Jedediah. Hold him. Not out of notions of advancing the relationship, but to simply join him in rest. To relax against him. Feel his heart beat. With Jedediah awake and fully cognizant of their proximity.

He refrains from doing so, instead drinking his fill of the sight of a content Jedediah, lying upon a large map of the world.

* * *

_Later..._

They sit on the edge of a bookshelf, legs swinging. They are quiet. Blessedly, their silence is no longer strained, but companionable. Jedediah is more comfortable now, leaning his weight on his arms when Octavius pops the question.

Feeling lightheaded, he takes the plunge and says, “I would like to invite you to Rome.” He lifts his eyes. “Would you come?”

Once again, Jedediah is thoughtful and slow in his response. Quietly, he mulls over the question. It takes him a long time to reply.

He wets his lips.

“So. What does this mean exactly? Are we talking: _Come to Rome. I’d like ta’ show you around,_ or is this you asking me to come to Rome with the idea of courtin’ on your mind?”

Octavius bites his lip, considering. He is just as slow and thoughtful in his own response.

“My invitation…” He looks up. “It...it is whatever you wish it to be. You know my feelings well enough. However, in matters of the heart, I shall always follow your lead.”

Jedediah opens his mouth. Shuts it. He appears shocked, smiling faintly. Glancing down, he stares at the buttons on his shirt, rubbing his neck.

Octavius lifts his hand. “There is no need to make a decision tonight. I will not pressure you. The invitation stands. Simply think upon it.”

Slowly, Jedediah nods, keeping his answer simple. “Okay.” He sounds nothing like himself. His voice is much softer, more vulnerable than it's ever been.

Octavius nods. “Alright.”

* * *

_A few nights later..._

“Come along, my little hellion.”

Octavius walks briskly through the Old West with Assassin trotting and squealing happily beside him.

He had been summoned. By Silas, of all people.

The cowboy had shouted from across their dioramas, yelling at one of Octavius’s sentinels that they needed to fetch him.

Hearing the commotion, Octavius had sighed and rose from his desk, striding from his house to the edge of the diorama, where several of his soldiers had gathered.

“Once again I tell you, state your request for the Emperor and we shall relay your message to him!” Lucius shouted, even as Octavius strode closer.

 _“And I told ya, he needs to get his pompous ass over here and I’ll tell him what I gotta tell him!”_ came the retort from Silas.

At first, Octavius had been alarmed that something had happened to Jedediah, but Silas was a little too spirited and annoying for tragedy. So he sidled up, placing a calming hand upon Lucius’s shoulder.

Lucius was shaking, Silas grating on his nerves. The man had a gift.

Startled, Lucius turned his head. “My liege!”

“I will speak to him. Go. Now. All of you.” He turned, hands clasped behind his back and watched them go.

Swiveling back around, he sighed and arched an eyebrow. “Well, Silas? My _“pompous ass”_ is present.”

Silas laughed, sounding surprised. He slapped a hand on his thigh hard enough Octavius could hear it.

 _“Hey, man, you’re alright!”_ Silas jerked his thumb. _“Ol’ Jed sent me to round ya up. Get yer highfalutin ass over here, pronto! He wants ya to meet ‘em at the stables.”_

Octavius lifted his other eyebrow. He paused. “Is he well?”

 _“Hell, man.”_ Silas slumped his broad shoulders. _“He was smilin’ and all, but it was weird. Kinda twitchy. You might want to get over here."_

Raising his eyebrows, Octavius's eyes darted. That didn’t bode well, taking it all in. He murmured a weak-sounding, “Oh…”

Silas cupped his hands and shouted, _“He said to bring some apples with ya!”_

So now Octavius approaches the stables with his piglet by his side, and a small sack of apples in his hand, trying to quell his mounting anxiety.

It is quiet near the stables, smelling distinctly of horses and hay.

Octavius can hear the soft murmur of Jedediah's voice towards the back, but cannot see him.

With soft steps Octavius walks back, Assassin running in front of him.

Sweet Pea lies in a soft bed of hay, her legs folded gracefully. She holds her head up high with Jedediah seated in the hay beside her, legs outstretched.

Catching sight of Octavius, Jedediah smiles. “There he is!”

The death pig does what Octavius wishes to do and runs, launching himself at Jedediah. He falls into a squirming, squealing heap on Jedediah's lap.

“Hey, you!” Jedediah greets the piglet.

With an agitated whinny from the hellbeast, Assassin settles down and grows quiet, nervous under Sweet Pea’s critical eye.

She is silent as she leans forward and touches her snout to the top of the piglet's head.

Assassin looks at her adoringly before snuggling in Jedediah’s lap, on his best behavior.

Octavius lifts the sack. “I brought your apples, as requested.”

He holds the sack out to Jedediah, who takes it with a shy smile. “Thanks.”

Octavius waits patiently as Jedediah rifles through the sack, picking out the best one. He holds it up to the light, examining it and rubbing it against his blue sleeve.

Satisfied, he stretches his arm and holds it out to Sweet Pea.

She takes it daintily, biting into the apple. Half of it falls out of her mouth as she chews. Assassin doesn’t rush to snatch it, but she gives him a warning whinny anyway.

Octavius notes the behavior, sliding his eyes to Jedediah who rubs nervously at the back of his neck. His eyes are not right.

“So we got somethin’ to tell ya...” Jedediah begins.

If Octavius didn't know any better, he would think Jedediah sounded...nervous. He keeps his reply neutral. “Oh?”

“Um…” Jedediah’s gloved fingers twitch in anxious little motions. He peels his lips back in a half-grimace. “I thought I’d be the first one ta’ tell ya. We’re gonna have another member in the family soon.”

Octavius sighs, closing his eyes. “Is that all?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, he is exasperated with Jedediah and his talent for collecting strays, but Octavius had been fearful the news would be far worse. He summons his patience. “Who have you adopted now?”

Jedediah still has that half-grimace plastered to his face. His gaze looks a little...wild.

Octavius’s chest tightens.

“It ain’t so much who I adopted.” Jedediah flicks his gaze to the hellbeast. He graces her with a smile that combines weariness with a sense of pleasure. “It seems we’ve been so focused on when Baby could spark, we kinda forgot ta’ sit down and give the big talk with a certain someone.” He slides his eyes to Octavius, his expression is one of wary amusement. “Grandpa.”

* * *

_An indeterminable time later…_

Octavius forgets to breathe.

“Dad-gum-it! Would ya breathe?”

* * *

_An indeterminable time later…_

“Who!”

* * *

_An indeterminable time later…_

Octavius is on the stable floor, spread-eagle, head pillowed on Jedediah’s thigh, brain locked.

He stares up at the ceiling and focuses on breathing. One of his eyelids flickers in a nervous tic.

He’s perfectly fine.

Sweet Pea flicks her ears in annoyance. She snorts, blowing air from her nose.

“Take it like a man,” Jedediah reasons. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Octavius makes an incomprehensible noise. He pouts and lifts his index finger. “I want to know who did this.”

Just then, Silas comes breezing through the stable door, his own horse in tow. He jerks his thumb. “This here, is Biscuit.”

The two horses eye one another. It is like no one else exists.

Octavius shifts his focus to Silas.

Silas’s eyes dart to every corner. He fidgets for several moments, and then thrusts his hand forward, smiling wide. “Put ‘er there, in-law!”

The world is shifting in and out of focus.

Octavius slides his gaze back to Jedediah in a surge of horror.

Jedediah nods. “‘fraid so, papito.”

Low whimpers vibrate through Octavius. Holding his face in his hands, he shakes his head from side to side. His words are high-pitched and incomprehensible. All the pride he takes in his Roman heritage — gone. He is a mess.

Jedediah squints and bends over him, craning his neck, “What was that, Oct?”

Octavius repeats himself, but it is coming out gibberish. He may have had an aneurysm. He flails.

Silas turns to Jedediah, uncertain and nervous. “The boy gonna be okay?”

Octavius believes he’s coming down with a fever. He feels dizzy. Definitely hyperventilating. Seething, his lip curls. He lifts his head. His lips peel back to bare his teeth at Silas.

Jedediah pats Octavius gently on the shoulder as Octavius gentles, groaning into his palms. “He will be.” The words are spoken softly, quiet and steady. “He will be.”

Octavius feels the chin strap of his helmet being loosened, then the helmet lifted.

Jedediah pushes Octavius’s short hair back, carding through it. It barely registers.

Octavius whimpers louder.

* * *

_A week later…_

Octavius sits on the side of the Old West diorama, hands clasped tightly in front of him, swinging his legs. He and his daughters are having a heart-to-heart.

“Why not a fine, Roman stallion?” Anything. “Anything besides that _jackass!”_

Sweet Pea’s tail flicks. She tosses her mane.

“Roman stallions are elegant and strongly built. War horses. Compact.”

Sweet Pea lifts her head grandly. She is defiant, trotting back and forth, shaking her head.

Octavius mirrors her stance, watching her patiently, waiting for his cue. He opens his mouth to speak, but he is cut off with a sharp whinny.

He sucks in a breath, inhaling deep for a powerful speech.

She interrupts him with a neigh; her ears flick.

He lifts his chin, expression filled with exaggerated pride. “They may be _small,_ but their hearts are _large!”_ He sniffs, and then pauses. After a beat, he rolls his wrist. “Metaphorically speaking.”

The hellbeast snorts, blowing air out through her nose as she prances around him. She is not persuaded.

_Blast. Foiled!_

It would appear the hellbeast is just as stubborn as her papa. She has made up her mind.

Octavius’s words are all gone. They’ve fled. His confidence collapses.

Baby chitters nervously in the wings. Her tiny arms flail at the high drama playing out in front of her.

Octavius pats the dinosaur’s skeleton gently in reassurance. His family may be having a crisis, but he is still the head of the household. He will persevere and be a calming influence.

His shoulders slump and he sighs dramatically. Elbow on his knee, he props his head in his hand and pouts.

Jedediah strides toward him. He crouches down, bending over him. “The heart wants what the heart wants, Oct.”

He runs soothing hands down Octavius’s shoulders and pats his arms.

Tension leaves Octavius’s body and his pulse evens out.

Then he points his index finger at the hellbeast. “You. Be respectful.” He then points at Baby. “Calm down. Daddy’s stressed. That’s all. It’s fine.”

With that, he turns and saunters off.

They watch him go in silence.

Brow arched, Octavius follows him with his eyes, admiring the view.

* * *

_A week later…_

Octavius stands in his chambers, feeling naked. He is out of his armor, vulnerable, completely exposed, out of his comfort zone, in a simple red tunic.

Jedediah has agreed to visit Rome. On one condition.

“Chaperones,” Octavius mutters under his breath. He peers down, smoothing the tunic over his stomach. His sides. Over his rump.

Felix stops assisting Octavius into his attire and tilts his head. “My liege?”

Octavius waves his hand.

In preparation of the coming visit, Octavius has lost his mind. He’s decided to forgo the armor in favor of more informal attire. One more traditional to Rome.

Standing, with his arms outstretched, Octavius watches Felix work to drape the clean, white toga over his body.

The young man is quiet, gentle in his movements, seeming to understand and sense Octavius’s mounting anxiety.

Octavius takes deep breaths, closes his eyes and attempts to center himself. His shoulders slowly ease down.

He can now enjoy the simple feeling of the soft cloth upon his body, a nice change from his normal attire. It is very light. Very long. The hem tickles the backs of his ankles with every small movement.

The toga was chosen specifically with Jedediah and his preference toward modesty in mind.

Octavius attempts to stand still, but he’s a bundle of nerves.

At last, Felix stands in front of him, smoothing the toga to make it look just so. Octavius stares at his face, the familiar brown eyes, and the look of focused concentration he wears when he works — either with metal or in this case, clothing.

His hair has grown out once again, and is a tousled black mop. The length is still respectable, but noticeably long for a soldier.

“Your American friend has stolen another one of your helmets,” Octavius observes.

Felix pulls a face. His lip curls. He purses his mouth. It appears to be a loaded comment and Felix waves it aside.

At last, he steps back, taking in the finished product. Nodding to himself, he grins wide. He bounces, pleased. “There, my liege. Perfect!”

Feeling vulnerable again, Octavius shudders and acts very unemperor-like. He crosses his arms over his chest which feels extremely exposed without his armor. Excessively so. Open to attack.

Felix loses his excited smile. “Do my efforts not please you, my liege?”

Octavius feels his heart racing, arms tightening over his chest.

He paces across the room as Felix watches him.

Halting, he exhales and runs a hand through his short brown hair. He breathes quickly. Dropping his arm, he feels like he may hyperventilate. “I need a dagger.”

Felix eyes him levelly and shakes his head. “You do not need a dagger, my liege. You are well regarded and well respected among your people. Your men are loyal and you are adored.”

Exasperated, Octavius flicks his wrist. He grinds his teeth. Felix is naive and is laying it on thick. _“Child…”_

Octavius is about to remind him that every leader, even the most beloved, has their fair share of detractors when Felix respectfully lowers his eyes, angling his head in a subservient bow.

Octavius bites down on his comments. He glances away.

Embarrassed, he realizes he’s been fidgeting, and now his toga is ruffled and out of sorts. It is falling from his shoulders.

He lifts stricken eyes.

Obediently, Felix moves forward and smooths down the cloth, fiddling once more with the fabric. “You once protected me with no weapons at all.”

Octavius exhales. “That was long ago. And I was a different man then.”

Felix makes a noncommittal noise.

Octavius lifts his chin and raises both his eyebrows. “Let us hope this dinner goes decidedly better than the last one did.”

Felix blinks. He snorts softly and glances down. “I am not so clumsy as I used to be, Father. And this time you are among friends, and ones less inclined toward harboring ravenous monsters as pets.”

Turning, Octavius glances over his shoulder. Assassin lifts his head from his ornately decorated imperial cushion expectantly.

Octavius arches an eyebrow. “That’s debatable,” he says wryly.

The death pig snuffles, angling his head, causing his ceremonial beads to _click-clack_ together. Seeing he is not getting a treat, he grunts softly and lays his head back down.

Octavius pauses to reflect in earnest, and then glances down at his flimsy white toga. He smooths it down over his belly self-consciously.

His stomach is soft. There is a very slight paunch. He is thin, but not toned. Not made up of hardened muscle. Not the ideal male form. Not like his armor would suggest.

Felix lifts both his eyebrows and says softly, “If you will forgive my boldness, you look very pleasing. Your consort will appreciate the efforts you are making.”

Octavius lifts his head. The gesture is not grand. His gaze darts around the room. “He is my friend. Not my consort.”

“My apologies. I had assumed...” Felix stands at attention at being corrected. His hands are clasped behind his back. He rocks on his heels and angles his head. “But you would wish him to be...more?”

Octavius exhales. He closes his eyes and nods.

Lifting his gaze, he says, “Which makes this all the more nerve-wracking. He has never seen my true form. Merely the illusion of perfection.” He pats his stomach and shakes his head. “I would much prefer having ten assassins over to dinner rather than this…” Pursing his lips, he waves his hand. He drops his arm. “Rather than this uncertainty.” He turns and whirls back, speaking out of the side of his mouth. “At least with the assassins I know where I stand and can act accordingly.”

He glances down and laughs, nervously bouncing on the balls of his sandaled feet.

“Some leader I’ve turned out to be. Here I am, needing your reassurance. Our roles have reversed.” His fists clench. “When did I become so full of doubt?”

Felix’s smile is warm. “Doubt is good. It is what makes us human.”

“Child…” Octavius blinks. He claps Felix on the shoulder and grins. “When did you become so wise?”

Felix lowers his head, but the light in his eyes reveals he is pleased by the compliment. He shrugs his shoulders, twisting in place, reverting to the mannerisms of a boy. But only for a moment. He catches himself and stands once more at attention.

Octavius wishes he had a mirror. Having none, he paces. “You courted your American swiftly enough. Faster than the rest of us floundering mortals. I would know your secret. I realize no two cowboys are the same, but…” His brow crinkles, and he turns. “How?”

Felix opens his mouth to respond. Then shuts it. A wide smile stretches across his face. “He stole my helmet.” He huffs.

It breaks the tension. They both laugh.

Rueful, Octavius stops chuckling, staring into the past. He smooths down the cloth of his toga, feeling its flimsiness. “I need a dagger.”

Felix smiles fondly. He shakes his head. “You do not need a dagger, my liege.”

* * *

_A little while later..._

Octavius waits in his garden at Felix’s suggestion. The dinner preparations are being completed without him.

Octavius strolls down the cobbled path, fingers brushing leaves and delicate flower petals. There is a sweet fragrance in the air. His toga feels light and cool on his skin, against the top of his sandaled feet.

He focuses on these sensations to calm himself.

At last, he sits down upon a marble bench close to a fountain. It is his place of meditation, when he is not with his army, in the orchards, or with Jedediah.

Octavius sighs, smoothing his hands over his lap.

He’s desired for Jedediah to visit for so long and so often. Dreamed how the visit would pan out. Now it is no longer a dream, but a reality. Jedediah is coming.

He is also late.

Octavius closes his eyes; he will not dwell. That way lies madness. What will be, will be. So he tilts his head back. They had not discussed whether Jedediah was visiting as simply his friend or —

He takes a deep calming breath, listening to the flow of the fountain, the soft rustling of leaves, concentrating solely on his surroundings.

A familiar breeze moves across his body, swirling the leaves at his feet and billowing the soft fabric of his toga.

Octavius opens his eyes without turning around.

He is suddenly aware of the quiet footsteps along the garden path, carefully approaching his bench.

Octavius stands up slowly, his toga flowing down softly.

At last, he turns.

His lips part. He stares. Speechless.

Jedediah is dressed in a crisp white, button-down shirt. No gloves. No vest. No neckerchief. The brown leather breeches have been set aside to, at last, reveal the blue pinstripe pants in all their glory. Jedediah is exceptionally lean. His legs are very long.

With a thrill, Octavius notices that Jedediah is clean shaven.

Octavius must shake himself a little. He opens his mouth. Closes it.

_Jedediah looks so young!_

Octavius’s gaze darts to meet Jedediah’s eyes. He beams, shaking his head again, marveling at the transformation.

At the eye contact, Jedediah removes his hat. He stands awkwardly, turning the Stetson around and around in his hands.

Jedediah’s hair is combed back and smoothed down. Well, almost. There are a couple of errant end-strands that stubbornly want to curl, flipping up slightly.

Octavius may swoon. He lifts his hand, wanting to run his palm experimentally over Jedediah’s smooth face, stopping just short of touching him.

And he cannot wipe the smile from his mouth, feeling a rush of pride and possessiveness that Jedediah put such effort into his appearance.

_To visit him._

He feels he should apologize for staring, knowing Jedediah’s thoughts on the importance of respect and propriety, but he realizes with a flush of shyness that Jedediah is staring at him, also.

And just as intensely.

Jedediah brings his Stetson to his chest. He’s still turning it around and around in his hands, but his eyes have not left Octavius.

He watches, slack-jawed for a moment, and blurts out, “You look like an angel.”

Octavius blinks, taken aback, abruptly self conscious again. He looks down at himself with a critical eye. At his white toga. “This is...good?” Flustered, he cannot recall.

Peering up, he realizes Jedediah is staring intensely at the ground. He is blushing. Hard.

He watches Jedediah glance away, embarrassed. Watches Jedediah’s tongue flicker over his lips as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

Jedediah looks up. His eyes glitter. Quietly, he says, _“Yeah.”_ Bashful, he grins from ear to ear. “You look good.”

Octavius preens. Relieved, he rocks from side to side, giddy.

The Stetson is set down upon the bench.

Startled, Octavius realizes how close Jedediah moved, how close he stands beside him on his own accord.

“Look at you!” Jedediah exclaims, hands to his mouth. He eyes him up and down in amazement. His voice sounds a little high-pitched. Giddy. He turns Octavius in a full circle. Octavius goes. “Where’s the rest of you?”

Octavius laughs at this uncharacteristic impropriety while he is slowly spun around, Jedediah looking his fill, searching for “the rest of him.” He glances down, self conscious once again. He is certainly not tiny, but he is far less bulky without his protective covering.

He also wishes to return to the safety and security of that armor, but he is pleased Jedediah does not appear disappointed or disgusted by the shattered illusion.

In fact, it appears to be having the opposite effect.

Jedediah moves closer.

It’s both familiar and new. Their bodies have been against each other before, usually when they are in a heated debate. But now…

Their chests push against each other with every breath. Not quite Jedediah’s height, Octavius stares at the smooth, strong chin and completely exposed throat.

Catching himself staring, he realizes there is a blemish on Jedediah’s skin where he hadn’t been paying close enough attention to his ablutions and nicked his flesh with a razor. Or, he had been in a hurry. The mark tells a story. For some reason he finds this imperfection uncommonly sweet.

Octavius stills when Jedediah’s hand lifts, coming to rest against Octavius’s exposed neck. It is a bold move for Jedediah and Octavius marvels. Surely Jedediah can feel his quickening pulse and the faint tremors wracking his body.

Even bolder, that hand slips down and rests over Octavius’s chest.

Jedediah’s eyes light up. His mouth opens. “I can feel your heartbeat!”

Octavius glances down, fixated on that hand. He lifts his eyes. “It’s been there all along.”

Jedediah shakes his head, seemingly in awe. His eyes are large and round. “I’ve never felt it before.”

Octavius lifts both his eyebrows. “It beats for _you.”_

Jedediah huffs. He rolls his eyes, snorting softly. “I’m gonna let that one slide.”

The normalcy of that statement when everything else is completely extraordinary causes Octavius to break into a smile.

Jedediah’s palm has not moved from Octavius’s chest. He appears transfixed. Without armor, Octavius can feel the power in that hand. Jedediah is very strong. It makes Octavius feel fragile by comparison.

Jedediah seems to sense it, too. He drops his hand, but keeps body contact.

Octavius swallows. He is unaccustomed to this kind of thoughtfulness. This natural tenderness without forethought or machination. He tips his chin up and finds Jedediah’s eyes, dark with his pupils fixed intently upon him.

Octavius raises a hand to place it on Jedediah’s shoulder. His gaze sparkles with pleasure.

Slowly, they move forward until their foreheads touch. They bump the tips of their noses together. Their breaths mingle.

By unspoken agreement, they pause.

Octavius closes his eyes, relishing the touch. Feeling the mood shift, he abruptly stills, mentally prepared for the joining of their mouths as his breath grows faster and heavier.

Nothing happens.

He peeks his eyes open. And then he realizes Jedediah is watching him, waiting for permission.

Jedediah already has it. Yes, yes, a thousand times — _yes!_

It seems to be a night of role reversals. Slowly, Octavius lifts his hand to Jedediah’s face. Soft smoothness caresses his palm.

They share breath.

Octavius’s hand trails down to Jedediah’s chest, ghosting patterns over his white shirt. He angles his jaw and murmurs, “Yes…”

The way matters are progressing, they may not make it to dinner.

 _“Whoo-whee!_ Leave some room for Jesus, boys!”

The magic is broken and they both startle, jumping apart at the loud, obnoxious shout.

 _Silas._ Octavius curls his lip. Of course, one of the chaperones had to be Silas.

He flicks his gaze, annoyed at the interruption as Silas and company come swaggering through the gardens.

Silas snickers under his breath, taking entirely too much pleasure in his assigned role.

Octavius shifts his focus back to Jedediah and is pleased when he sees a flicker of irritation flash across Jedediah’s face as well. He tamps down his triumphant smile as Jedediah turns his head to the group.

Jedediah seemed to believe he needed _four_ chaperones to keep an eye on them and discourage any untoward behavior. Silas, Charley, Nat, and Bill.

Octavius lifts his chin. It should be disheartening. He feels smug. His gaze gleams as they look up and around at these new surroundings.

With a glimmer of mischief in his gaze, he smooths down his toga and slowly retreats backward.

He clasps his arms behind his back, keeping the respectful and appropriate amount of distance between himself and Jedediah.

It does nothing to suppress the flirtatious curve of his mouth or the good humor peeking out from his gaze as he regards Jedediah fondly and bows formally and graciously to the other Americans.

He spreads his arms wide. “Gentlemen. Welcome to Rome.”

* * *

_Minutes later…_

They lose Bill early in the evening.

While Octavius plays host and tour guide, Bill spies Felix ambling through the gardens.

In a flowing toga, Felix’s movements are fluid with an exaggerated, practiced grace. Regal. He regards Bill with a raised eyebrow. _Bless him._ And Bill is like putty. Needing no further enticement, he follows after.

Felix quirks his mouth, subtly angling his head respectfully, bowing only minutely at Octavius, and leads Bill away from the company.

And the chaperone party is down to _three._ Octavius suppresses a smile.

* * *

  _A little while later…._

As Octavius speaks, he watches Jedediah, who is taking in the sights of Rome with bright eyes. He remains quiet, but Octavius knows Jedediah is storing away questions for later.

Perhaps when they are alone.

Due to Octavius’s earlier fidgeting, his toga has loosened again slightly. It slides down his shoulder enough to make him self-aware. He catches the flimsy material and pushes it back up.

He turns his head in time to see Jedediah’s gaze dart up to meet his eyes. Then Jedediah refocuses his attention, turning to stare at a colorful mosaic of a mother wolf, studying it with focused interest.

Pleased at the lapse, Octavius smiles a secret smile and drifts his own gaze around the room looking for something that will hold the Americans’ interest. He settles back on the same mosaic, flicking his wrist and presenting it to the rest of the group for examination.

Octavius catches Silas staring hard at him, frowning in disapproval. His lips draw back from his teeth at the cowboy.

Silas appears unaffected by the show of aggression and immediately squints, jerking his chin.

Following the man’s gaze, Octavius realizes his hand has drifted over to rest against the small of Jedediah’s back.

He steps away a respectable distance. Silas smiles and nods, satisfied.

They move along.

* * *

_A little while later..._

He has chosen only his most trusted and loyal soldiers to play servants for the evening. He has left no room to chance of any harm coming to his guests. While he still believes he is surrounded by good men, old habits die hard and he is especially protective of this company.

Lucius finally approaches, looking harried, and murmurs quietly in his ear.

Octavius arches an eyebrow and nods regally. With a clap of his hands, he announces, “Dinner is prepared.”

Octavius leads them toward the Triclinium, the formal Roman dining room. The Americans stare at the elaborately decorated corridor filled with pillars, paintings, and more mosaics.

Once at the Triclinium, the chaperones cannot stop Octavius and Jedediah from sitting beside each other at the dinner table. There are only three separate couches surrounding a marvelously decorated table. The fourth corner of the table is left open for the serving of the various, elaborately prepared dishes. Which means the host and guests will have to double up.

Unable to break from some traditions, Octavius reclines on his left side with a catlike grace, resting against the cushions of his klinai, at the head of the table. His toga slides down his shoulder as he pats the space in front of him for Jedediah to sit as he wishes.

The look Jedediah gives him is loaded. Caution. Trepidation. Amusement. That is until, Jedediah’s eyes take in Octavius’s relaxed pose, becoming fascinated with the folds of his toga and his indecently exposed collarbone.

Nat coughs loudly into his closed fist.

Octavius graciously pushes his toga back up at the same moment Jedediah catches himself. He glances away with a blush burning over his face.

Jedediah’s eyes flick up to admire mosaics. He chokes. “Oh, Lordy...” Gaze transfixed, he stares with his mouth wide open.

Frolicking, youths in groves. Naked as the day they were born. Men. Women. All manner of couplings.

“Doggone it!” Jedediah hides his face in his hands. He twists around, and is met on the opposite wall with windchimes in the shape of a gigantic, engorged phallus. Vibrating, he flails his arms, shouting, “Why!”

Octavius chuckles, taken in. He hadn’t really considered the decor in the room, having never entertained visitors here before. At least, not in the museum’s re-creation of his home. It doesn’t make Jedediah’s reaction to the mosaics or the windchime any less funny to him.

On suddenly weak knees, Jedediah sits down hard beside Octavius, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead. He does not blink.

He sits up ramrod straight. As do Silas, Charley, and Nat. Silas and Nat avert their eyes, ostentatiously leaning back and crossing their legs. Charley peers around, unaffected. Gruffly, he mutters in a raspy voice, “Pussies.”

Octavius arches an eyebrow, amused. He lifts his index finger, words falling languidly from his lips. “Your observation has been duly noted and it is not without merit.”

Jedediah, Silas and Nat glower at Octavius. Charley snorts.

Perfectly at ease, Octavius laughs and leans forward to bring a silver cup to his mouth as Silas and Nat give each other manly amounts of personal space with lots of elbow room. So much elbow room, in fact, they are seated on separate couches.

Silas and Charley begrudgingly share a klinai. Nat has a couch all to himself.

Round the table there is silence and nobody moves.

“Where’s the forks?” Nat asks expectantly.

Octavius lowers his silver cup from his lips.

“There are no forks. We shall eat with our hands,” he explains.

The Americans swivel their heads, all looking back and forth between one another.

Octavius attempts to lead by example, leaning his weight with one hand. With the other, he plucks at the various foods before them.

The silence stretches, along with the tension.

When the tension becomes too great, Nat swipes a safe-looking loaf of bread from the table and tears into it.

While Jedediah will not lean back, he seems to catch on first to Roman etiquette and the others follow suit. Nat begrudgingly places the loaf back on the table and they all break bread and tentatively share in the various dishes of lobster, oysters, pigeon, and snails, all in a delectable sauce. They also partake in various fruits.

There is pleasant conversation amongst them as the Americans slowly relax in the company of the Emperor.

Satisfied that his guests are enjoying the food, Octavius delicately plucks an olive from a platter.

He holds it close to his mouth, but it does not pass his lips. He feels the familiar uncomfortable lurch in his stomach at the thought of eating.

With a sigh, he sets the olive down on an empty plate.

The other Americans had not noticed anything amiss, but Jedediah does. With a gentle smile, Jedediah leans forward and chooses a few items from the many platters and places them upon a plate.

Octavius lounges, cup in hand, watching him curiously.

Jedediah takes a bite of food, and then offers another bite to Octavius.

With an amused smile, Octavius takes it from him.

Jedediah leans back to whisper, “I reckon I must’ve spoiled ya by always having you eat off my plate.”

Octavius hums and confesses, “Am I that transparent?”

Jedediah shrugs. “Maybe a little. Not too bad, though. Ain’t noticeable unless you’re lookin’ for it.” He bites into an olive and pulls a face. Nearly gagging, he quickly washes it down with his water. He picks up a second olive. “I ain’t so keen on olives, though. Here. Open wide.”

Octavius opens his mouth and Jedediah tosses the olive. It is caught in mid-air.

The toss is not proper table etiquette, but Octavius will not complain.

They talk quietly and continue their meal.

When Jedediah passes a plump, dark grape to him, Octavius cannot help but chuckle softly.

Confused, Jedediah tilts his head. “What?”

Octavius grins slyly, relaxing back against his klinai. He watches Jedediah’s throat bob. He stretches out luxuriously. With a fluid movement of his hand, Octavius pops the grape into his mouth.

“I remember you once saying you would not feed me grapes.”

Jedediah’s gaze darts to his face. He rolls his head. “Dad-gum-it!”

Octavius smiles wide, all teeth. He lounges back again, supremely unaffected by Jedediah’s outburst. He rolls his head. “I’ve learned never say never, darling.”

Octavius eats very little, partly from being occupied by answering questions, but also, his attention keeps drifting to Jedediah.

He cannot help but admire the uncharacteristically smooth, handsome face and the properly groomed blond hair. Many times he must keep himself from reaching out to feel the wheat-gold strands slide through his fingers.

Jedediah turns his body toward him when he speaks to Octavius, and Octavius feels those eyes trace his lounging form.

Every time Jedediah trails off, his eyes linger. Then he looks away abruptly, cheeks burning, as he takes a nervous sip of water.

In his many years, Octavius has learned the art of private conversation, and knew how to speak to one person in a quiet room without anyone else aware of his words. Over the evening, while Jedediah has not leaned back, he’s drifted closer and closer to Octavius, so that now he sits in the space where Octavius’s body is curved.

“Is everything alright, my love?” Octavius whispers close to Jedediah's ear.

Jedediah nods, but doesn't speak. He frowns, keeping his eyes forward. Then, he wets his lips. “I guess…” He stops and turns his head. “I reckon it all just hit me. You were…” His brow knits together. “You _are_ a Roman Emperor.”

Octavius sets down his cup and leans forward. “Jedediah. It is only me. I still answer to Ockie. ‘Tavius. Octy. Or any other variation of my name you see fit to bestow upon me.”

Jedediah smiles with his eyes. The corner of those eyes crinkle softly.

On a roll, Octavius leans forward with a grin, tilting his head. “Baby blue. Miss Polly Sunshine. Angel drawers...”

Jedediah swats him. “Pain in my hind end!”

Octavius chuckles, bumping his nose against Jedediah’s cheek. He wiggles his eyebrows up and down. “Promises, promises.”

Jedediah turns beet red again, and tosses an olive, which Octavius catches and chews. Still leaning forward, his toga slips past his shoulder. He whispers, “How much like an emperor do I appear to you now?”

Jedediah’s eyes focuses on his collarbone, his bare shoulder. They shoot back up to meet Octavius’s expectant gaze. “You’re still an emperor, Ockie. Just a dirty-minded one.”

Octavius wiggles his eyebrows again. He rolls the olive in his mouth and swallows. “Always.” He gives Jedediah a quick peck on the cheek, pushes his toga up his shoulder, and lounges back.   

* * *

_A little while later..._

Jedediah cannot be persuaded to sample the wine. The others show no such self-restraint. They toss back each cup as fast as it can be poured.

They keep Octavius’s soldiers-turned-servants busy.

Jedediah, on the other hand, slowly sips his water without complaint. He has enjoyed various dishes and leans somewhat against Octavius.

The dinner platters are removed, and the table is given a quick wipe down. To the astonishment of the Americans, a few more platters of small sweets are brought out and laid down before them.

* * *

_A little while later…_

The wine continues to flow.

Raucous laughter erupts from Silas and Nat. Even Charley begins to thaw and offers more of his biting wit to their conversation. Jedediah and Octavius sit close together, their attention continuing to stray to each other.

Charley snaps his fingers and Jedediah jumps. He reddens and faces front, taking a gulp of his water. It goes down wrong and he coughs, beating his chest.

Octavius plucks a dessert from each plate and offers one of each to Jedediah, thrilled with the rare opportunity to share his own cuisine and feed his friend.

Jedediah’s eyes light up with each new sample of dessert, but he takes a particular liking to the small honey cakes.

He offers half of his cake to Octavius, but Octavius lifts his palm, declining the dessert.

Shrugging, Jedediah eats three more, and then he shakes his head, patting his stomach to indicate he is full.

Octavius curls his finger and Lucius comes forward, Octavius whispering quickly to him.

Lucius nods and begins clearing the table.

Thinking better of it, Jedediah snags a couple more cakes, placing them in a napkin to save for later as the rest of the food begins disappearing.

The wine continues flowing. And the other three Americans partake. They are all heavy drinkers and can easily drink any number of the Romans under the table.

This is how they wind up losing Nat.

He laughs uproariously over a joke, slamming his palms up and down on the table. Then, just as abruptly as his laughter began, he slumps forward, tumbling from his couch in a drunken heap.

With a soft moan, he rolls on his back on the floor like a puppy after a bath, smacking his lips, a smile of absolute bliss plastered to his face. His mouth goes slack, and he lets out a loud snore that vibrates the table legs.

While not by design, the chaperone party is down to _two._

Octavius arches an eyebrow.

Old habits die hard. Alarmed, he gets up and subtly drifts toward Nat’s side of the table. Leaning forward, he peers down into the depths of the wine cup. He brings it to his nose and sniffs.

Swirling his finger in the cup, he takes a sample. He grimaces at the strong flavor.

Giving Jedediah a genuine look of apology, he realizes that in Lucius’s haste to replenish the pitcher of wine, he forgot to water it down.

* * *

_A few minutes later…_

They heft Nat up off the floor, and stretch him out more comfortably on the couch, leaving him where he lies, and move on to tour the rest of Rome.

Jedediah is not the only one who seems to have taken a fancy to the honey cakes. Silas has his Stetson filled full to the brim with the tasty treats. He clutches his hat, using it as an impromptu bowl, nibbling his snacks throughout the tour.

Their next stop is the Roman baths. The Americans look up and around them, spinning in full circles with their mouths open.

The Romans come to the baths for relaxation, exercise, personal hygiene, and to socialize.

As Octavius lectures and informs, the Americans explore and peek around.

He lifts his hand, pointing up to the various features of the baths when he glances over and realizes how close he and Jedediah have drifted toward one another.

Their remaining chaperones have not kept a watchful eye. Charley is busy taking in the sights and Silas has wandered off down the corridor.

Octavius and Jedediah are practically standing cheek to cheek, with Jedediah fascinated by all the structures and hearing about the medicinal advantages of the baths.

Octavius stops speaking, watching as Jedediah pops one of his leftover honey cakes into his mouth, munching on it thoughtfully.

Jedediah notices the sudden quiet and turns his head.

Octavius chuckles softly. Jedediah’s cheeks are bulging. He looks like an adorably blond chipmunk.

Oblivious, Jedediah raises his eyebrows in question and offers Octavius a bite of his honey cake. Octavius demurs with a wave of his hand.

Just then, there is screaming and hollering.

Silas races their way. He hooks his thumb, panting, charging his way past them. “Run for yer lives, boys! There’s a sea of peckers in there and they know our names!” He tosses his Stetson and honey cakes go flying, pelting Octavius and Jedediah on the way down.

Still yelling, Silas vaults up a flight up stairs, and keeps running, bringing the number of chaperones down to _one._

They head a little further toward the baths, enough for them to hear a series of splashes.

Still fascinated by the structure, Jedediah slowly turns toward the sound.

Many of Rome's finest are frolicking, nude and glistening.

Members of the troop stand with pride, feet spread heroically, weight evenly dispersed on strong, toned legs. They each lift their hands and wave. No man covers his nakedness. The men in Octavius’s army are not shy.

“Hello, Jedediah!” they greet in unison.

Startled, Jedediah’s eyes fly open wide. His gaze loses its focus, expression entirely blank. Hair vibrating, his skin loses its healthy color.

He spews honey cake from his mouth.

* * *

_Later…_

While it did not start off as a challenge to see if Octavius could rid Jedediah of his many chaperones, it has certainly become one now.

Charley is proving obstinate, however.

He stands guard under an apple tree as Octavius pushes his toga back up his shoulder and climbs after Jedediah, higher and higher.

His sandal slips on the bark of the tree and suddenly his pristine white toga isn’t so pristine anymore. Before he can struggle for purchase, Jedediah swoops in. He swings upside down from a higher tree branch and grabs Octavius by the wrist.

It is a single-handed grab. Octavius is pulled the rest of the way up.

At the top of the tree, he marvels. He shakes his head at Jedediah’s strength that is normally hidden.  

Jedediah breaks into a happy grin and laughs. He waves his hand as though it were nothing.

Octavius chuckles softly, thrilled Jedediah is in such a good humor. He half-expected Jedediah to suspect the dwindling chaperones had been Octavius’s diabolical scheme all along.

_It wasn’t._

It was simply a glorious coincidence. And one Octavius relishes, since his invitation had been extended to Jedediah. Alone.

He smiles fondly. His gaze roves. And then he frowns.

Tsking, he lifts his hand, plucking a twig from Jedediah’s tousled mop. No longer combed down, the hair has given up the good fight and springs in all directions.

Jedediah is silent as the twig is pulled free. His brow creases.

Octavius holds up the twig between his forefinger and thumb, presenting it for Jedediah’s inspection.

Jedediah frowns down at it, but then immediately breaks into a wide smile. He lifts his eyes and chortles. “Whoops.”

“Adorable.” Octavius drops the twigs. They disappear through the leaves.

The wind picks up, swaying the branches of the tree. Octavius’s toga wants to lift. He has to struggle a moment for balance to keep the hem down around his ankles. Then he scuffs his sandals, pursing his lips, when the toga slides down his shoulder again.

Still enjoying himself, Jedediah keeps a firm grip on Octavius’s wrist and then edges around, arm going about Octavius’s waist to keep him from falling.

He goes still, frowning, distracted by his palm pressed against Octavius’s belly. His thumb twitches. “God, you’re soft.”

“Yes.”

Self conscious, Octavius drops his gaze, not wanting to see Jedediah working his mind around the deception of Octavius’s armor and the reality.

Silence stretches.

“I like it.”

Astounded, Octavius whips his head.

“Bet you’d make an amazing pillow,” Jedediah says, still distracted. He lifts his gaze.

Octavius cannot think of a thing to say. It is not often he’s left speechless. His lips part. He stares.

They hold their pose for another moment. Then Octavius is righted, Jedediah positioning his knee, taking some of Octavius’s weight to allow him to gain a stronger foothold.

Jedediah edges back. He ruffles Octavius’s hair.

Octavius bats at the hand.

He would not say they squeal, but they squeal and laugh like children.

Jedediah scales back his laughter in favor of smiling. He hums, a soft chuckle under his breath. “I’ve had a great time.”

Octavius angles his head respectfully. The toga slides down and he drags it up. “I’m glad.”

Jedediah darts his eyes from the shoulder slip and turns his attention, watching the branches sway quietly. “I like it here.”

“You love nature. I am pleased you accepted my invitation.”

Jedediah seems right on the verge of saying more, when he glances up the length of the tree. It distracts him.

He jerks his chin and climbs higher. “Come on!”

Octavius pauses a moment to admire the view. He is reassessing his opinion of those pinstriped, high-waisted trousers. They may not hug Jedediah’s rump the way the leather breeches do, but they are trance-inducing. He hums in appreciation.

Leaves sway and twigs snap, and he finds himself dodging an apple Jedediah lobs at his head. “I said, come on, Ockie!”

With a fond sigh, Octavius finds a foothold, then searches for a handhold. The toga slips and Octavius determinedly pushes it back up where it belongs. Bouncing a little, he tests his weight.

He pulls himself up higher.

* * *

_Later…_

Laughing, they poke their heads up through the very top of the apple tree. It almost appears as though they are wading through an ocean of leaves.

Octavius glances down to notice Charley has his neck stretched, watching them.

Hands clasped in front of him, he stands, a silent, stalwart sentinel.

Tiring, Octavius moves to take a seat on the sturdiest part of a branch he can find. He sits with his hands on his knees, pausing a moment to catch his breath.

Jedediah straddles the branch, sitting very close beside him. He swings his legs, content.

Octavius grins, practically giddy. He smiles a secret smile, unwilling to press for anything more tonight. The evening has gone well. Better than he anticipated. And he is satisfied, simply watching Jedediah relax and enjoy himself in his element.

They watch Charley, the comings and goings of Rome, and even keep an eye on the much larger beings that pass through the _Hall of Miniatures_ in companionable silence.

“I could get used to this,” Jedediah says after a time.

Octavius bumps his shoulder. “You are welcome in the orchards anytime you wish to visit.”

Jedediah turns his head to peer at him.

Octavius chuckles and clicks his tongue. More twigs have snagged themselves in Jedediah’s hair. He fusses. One by one, he plucks them loose.

A soft breeze rustles the leaves, swaying the tree slightly and Octavius nearly loses his balance. His hand shoots out to steady himself and his palm is met with a smooth jawline.

Jedediah laughs, gaze down. Bashful.

Octavius is overcome. Before he knows it, he is taking Jedediah’s face in both of his palms and tilts it slightly for a kiss.

It isn’t passionate in the slightest. Simply a peck on the forehead. Octavius takes a moment to smooth back Jedediah’s hair. It springs forward in every direction, wild.

Jedediah swats him, laughing. They both pull away.

Kisses become a game.

Soft, smacking pecks. Against Jedediah’s temple. His eyelids. The small creases at the corners of his eyes. His cheeks. The smooth jawline.

Jedediah laughs, first swatting Octavius, but then he begins playing along. He kisses Octavius's forehead.

In answer, Octavius leans forward and presses his lips to Jedediah’s mouth with a loud, comical smack.

Jedediah’s lips are firm and warm.

They push back from each other, grinning.

Jedediah’s eyes sparkle with humor. Octavius knows his own gaze is a mirror image of Jedediah’s.

They laugh into the kisses.

Each press of lips lingers longer than the last, stronger, more urgent, insistent until —

The tension shifts and they are kissing for real.

Jedediah’s eyes fly open wide. Languidly, he closes them. He moans into the kiss, mouth opening, becoming pliant.

Octavius pulls back enough to murmur against Jedediah’s mouth. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” Jedediah says breathlessly. He nips at Octavius’s lips with a devastating sweetness. “Just roll with it, okay?”

And so they do.

An apple whizzes past their ears, snapping twigs and rustling the leaves. “Boys!” Charley shouts in his raspy voice. “Knock it off!”

Octavius and Jedediah pull apart, laughing. Jedediah’s lips are red, swollen, and glistening. His cheeks: red. He lifts a palm to his forehead. His gaze is somewhere between loving and scorching.

Octavius leans forward and their foreheads touch. Breathing heavy, he cups Jedediah’s jaw.

Jedediah braces his hand against Octavius’s shoulder. They pull back and grin.

There has been no self consciousness on Jedediah’s part. None. Octavius is caught off guard by the brazenness, but he does not question it. Jedediah’s wakening self confidence is an incredible turn on, and before they know it, they are back to kissing, laughter under it all.

“Don’t make me come up there!” Charley shouts, and pelts another apple.

They pull apart for good this time, still laughing.

Grinning with more than a hint of mischief, Jedediah jerks his chin. “Come on.”

Instead of climbing down, he climbs sideways. Finding himself a sturdy foothold, he takes a flying leap, and lands in another tree.

He swings, and then angles around. Winding his arm, he calls to Octavius.

Since Jedediah isn’t wearing a toga, he has the advantage of full movement of his limbs. Octavius bites his lip, clutching the shoulder of his toga, feeling dizzy as the branch beneath his sandals dips. He does not want to look down.

Jedediah evidently doesn't want him looking down either.

“You're doing great,” Jedediah says, holding his arms out. “Come on. I promise I won’t let you fall. I gotcha.”

Octavius nods. He takes a few deep breaths before taking quick strides across the branch he stands on.

He sees Jedediah and takes the leap, stretching his arms out.

Octavius yelps, scrambling, and is immediately caught.

“I gotcha, I gotcha!” Jedediah assures him, pulling Octavius into his arms. “I told ya, I gotcha.”

Heart pounding, Octavius’s hands clutch at the white shirt on Jedediah's back, tucking his head and face against Jedediah’s shoulder as he catches his breath and calms.

The branch they’re standing on dips from their combined weight.

Believing they’re falling, Octavius shudders and clings tighter to Jedediah. He finds Jedediah’s gaze.

“What are we doing?” he asks, repeating himself.

Jedediah’s thumb twitches against Octavius’s back. “Having the time of our lives.”

* * *

_Later…_

The third tree they run and jump into is sturdier. As is the fourth and fifth.

That, or the prospect of the jumps is getting easier to bear.

By unspoken agreement, they crouch low, holding their index fingers to their lips. They tremble with quiet laughter, shushing each other as Charley passes by underneath their branch, searching for them.

Boldly, Jedediah leans forward and kisses below Octavius’s ear down to the hollow of his throat.

Octavius moans softly, head falling back. “‘Diah…”

Emboldened by the breathy sound, Jedediah presses his advantage and pushes back the toga and tunic, running a thumb lightly across Octavius’s collarbone.

Octavius’s eyes fly open. He sucks in a sharp breath, losing his foothold when Jedediah’s warm mouth makes contact with the flesh of his shoulder. His sandals scrape against the bark of the tree.

Charley whirls and they break apart. He spots them by the telltale shaking of the leaves and branches.

Jedediah raises his eyebrows and Octavius nods. They both turn and sprint, vaulting into the next tree with a peel of laughter.

* * *

_Later…_

Somehow they’ve made it out of the _Hall of Miniatures_ unseen and are back out into the much larger world of the museum. For Octavius, it’s all a blur. They’ve had to resort to desperate measures to evade Charley.

They stand side by side, edging along, backs pressed against the wall.

Jedediah peers around a corner. He curls his finger, and they sprint for the next corridor.

Under normal circumstances, Octavius would never use the term _giggling_ to describe either he or Jedediah’s laughter. The word sounds, at least in Octavius’s own mind, distinctly feminine. At present, giggling is the only word that fits.

They giggle, run, duck, and dive for the nearest cover.

Backs once again pressed to the wall, they cover their mouths with their hands, watching as the man Octavius caught glimpses of during the _“power outage”_ pushes a mop around the floor.

The man appears oblivious to the chaos around him, only dodging out of the way of a charging antelope at the last minute.

Nonplussed, he goes back to his mopping.

His attire is still a shade lighter than the other nightguards, and he wears a nametag with the name: _Reggie._ Under the name, reads: _Janitor._

Reggie whistles as he works. When his back is turned, Octavius and Jedediah sprint past him at a dead run.

* * *

_Later…_

The scene is both fascinating and terrifying.

They hunker down along a window sill on the very top level of the museum. The world outside is pitch-dark but for the street lamps and traveling beams of light.

The movements are almost beautiful, tranquil at a distance. Choreographed.

There are no twinkling stars, but there is light everywhere: Down below in the street. Up in the sky are moving, blinking lights. The lights stretch atop enormous buildings that reach their way up as though to touch the very hands of the gods.

And there is such noise! The sound is what’s terrifying. It ranges from whispering to a beastly roar.

Across the square, Octavius watches, transfixed by a rotating lightshow. The mechanism hangs from a pole along the walking path.

At measured intervals, the lights change colors from reds, to yellows, to greens. These colors must have meaning. Great, hulking horseless, chariots begin their journeys and halt their progress by each distinctively-colored flicker of light.

Beside him, Jedediah has his chin propped on his hands. His feet are in the air, behind him and crossed at the ankles. He also appears mesmerized. Only instead of the feeling of dread that roils in Octavius’s belly at each new, strange discovery, Octavius gets the distinct impression Jedediah wants to be outside in the thick of it all. Exploring.  

Already knowing the answer, Octavius feels compelled to ask the question, regardless. “Is this what New York looked like when you were born?”

Without looking up, Jedediah shakes his head. “Very different.” Still not looking up, he wets his lips. “It looks so alive!” He flicks his gaze, shifting his weight to his elbows. “Doncha wanna go outside and see it and experience it all for yourself?”

Octavius sits up and watches the spectrum of light play across Jedediah’s face. Reds and greens and yellows and blues and golds. He answers truthfully. “I am perfectly content.”

Jedediah becomes still, lifting his eyes.

Octavius lifts his hand, fingers attempting to smooth down the wild tips of Jedediah’s hair and tuck it behind his ear.

The gentle ministrations cause Jedediah’s eyelids to flutter closed.  He leans into the touch.  

The rebellious strands spring up.

Octavius chuckles softly, shaking his head. He dips forward, capturing Jedediah’s lips in a long, sweet kiss.

A hand winds in Octavius’s short hair. He reels.

_Because Jedediah is kissing him back._

He moans into the kiss as it deepens. It feels like a dream.

Jedediah moves to sit up as Octavius lowers himself. They meet in the middle, leaning on their sides.

The toga has been slipping from Octavius’s body throughout the duration of the night. It slides off his shoulder.

Inspired, Octavius slowly pulls his mouth from Jedediah’s lips. Jedediah follows until they are both sitting up. He sees the flicker of disappointment on Jedediah's face and can't stop himself from placing a quick peck to that pouting mouth.

Jedediah remains seated, watching Octavius unhurriedly rise to stand before him.

Their gazes remain locked.

Octavius watches the different colored lights from outside flicker across Jedediah’s body as he reaches up to unhurriedly pull the cloth apart. It slips down from the rest of his body slowly, and Jedediah follows its movements, lips parting as the white cloth pools at Octavius’s feet.

Jedediah lifts his gaze, staring speechlessly at Octavius. His eyes slip back to the fallen toga.

Octavius is not naked, but he wonders if the exposed skin he is showing is too much. He begins to think he misread the situation, doubting his own instincts.

Silence stretches as Jedediah’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

Slowly, Jedediah rises up on his knees in front of him, gazing up. The reaction is delayed, but the intense look of desire heating Jedediah’s gaze tells Octavius it's not too much, after all.

It isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Jedediah's hands twitch in his lap.

Octavius anticipates the question and nods his permission.

His head tilts back as he feels Jedediah’s palms brush up his calves, cupping the backs of his knees.

Abruptly weak, he places a steadying palm upon Jedediah’s shoulder. His other hand cradles the back of Jedediah’s head.

Octavius feels a soft press against his belly and tilts his head down.

Jedediah slowly nuzzles his covered stomach, his hands gripping his legs tighter.

Suddenly jerked forward, Octavius gasps as he falls softly on his knees to straddle Jedediah’s lap, arms wrapping loosely around his shoulders.

Warm lips press to his neck, his throat. Jedediah roughly pulls at the sleeve of Octavius’s tunic, exposing a smooth shoulder.

Octavius shivers when there is a pause, but he can feel Jedediah’s warm breath on his skin, arching his body. His breath quickens. “Jedediah…” He opens his eyes, not realizing they’d closed. “I want…”

Jedediah is breathing heavy; his chest heaves. “Did anyone ever tell you…” His voice is strained. “...that you look like an angel?”

“‘Diah — _mmmph!”_

Jedediah holds him tight, kissing his lips. Then he returns his attention to Octavius’s shoulder, mouthing over his neck, tongue flicking against his skin.

Jolts of pleasure travel through Octavius, and he arches.

Warm hands grip and squeeze his thighs, fingertips slipping underneath the hem of Octavius's tunic.

Octavius peers down to look at their laps. With Jedediah wearing his pinstriped trousers _sans_ leather breeches, he is able to see the lengthy outline of Jedediah’s arousal, trapped tightly inside the pants.

Enthralled, he drops his hand.

It hovers patiently, waiting, seeking permission.

Jedediah glances down. He peers back at the hand, then down.

“No.” He steers Octavius’s palm to his shoulder and pats it once. “Ain’t ready for that yet.”

Disappointed, Octavius nods and slides his hand to bury his fingers in Jedediah’s hair, cradling his head. “Alright.”

He angles his jaw, settling for pressing his lips to Jedediah’s mouth. He flicks his tongue, licking over Jedediah's teeth, seeking permission, and is encouraged when Jedediah’s mouth opens. Deeper, he presses on, plunging inside and licking into Jedediah’s mouth.  

Jedediah tastes as Octavius remembers. He tastes like home. With a bit of honey thrown into the mix.

His thumb massages small circles against Jedediah’s neck, pulling him closer. Jedediah moans into the kiss.

Octavius becomes fascinated with Jedediah’s white shirt. He wants to rip it off him. His fingers slowly slide across Jedediah’s ribcage, tracing patterns against his chest, plucking experimentally at the buttons.

Jedediah jumps.

“Ockie,” he whispers between soft, damp kisses.

“Mmmm?” Octavius asks, and keeps kissing him.

“I—I… I can’t…”

The hesitant words seize Octavius's attention. He snaps his eyes open and draws back.

Jedediah’s desire has flagged.

Realizing he’s overstepped, he tries to form words of sincerest apology; they stick to the roof of his mouth.

Hastily, he withdraws.

“Wait.” Jedediah halts Octavius’s retreat. “I liked what we were doin’. I just —” His mouth thins. “I wanna look at you. A—and...maybe...touch you. But…” He shakes his head. “I can’t let you reciprocate.” He clenches his jaw, shaking his head, obviously embarrassed with himself. “Not yet.”

Octavius blinks, watching him.

After a moment’s contemplation, he inclines his head. He will not say he isn’t disappointed, but strives not to let it show. “Very well. We do only what makes you feel comfortable.”

Jedediah shakes his head again, mouth pressed tightly together. “It don't feel...fair. Cause I ain't ready…” He pulls at the ends of his hair. “I feel…” He trails off, closing his eyes. “And I don't want you thinkin’ I’m leadin’ ya on. That I’m foolin’ with you. Because I ain't meanin’ to. Especially when —” He breaks off, seemingly unable to complete a full sentence. “It's me.” Fingers splayed, he places his palm flat against his own chest. “I know it’s me.”

Octavius nods his head in comprehension and understanding. “I’m happy with whatever we do together. And I’ve told you before. You set the pace. I follow your lead.”

Jedediah blinks. He wets his lips, eyes stricken. “I want —”

Octavius reiterates. “Anything you wish.”

“Then.” Jedediah squeezes his eyes shut. “I want...I want…”

“Jedediah, it's only me.” He lifts his hand to cup Jedediah’s jaw, stroking a thumb against his cheek. “As much as I would like to, I cannot read your mind. You must tell me what you desire.”

They pull back, keeping eye contact.

Unable to speak, Jedediah lifts his palm, patiently waiting for Octavius’s permission to touch him.

Octavius nods once and silently mouths the word, _“Yes.”_

Gently, Jedediah lies him back.

A hand glides along his stomach, lower, lower, and Octavius keeps his gaze steady with Jedediah as he tilts his hips up to pull his red tunic to his waist.

Jedediah isn't satisfied, and the tunic is pulled over Octavius's head.

Exposed, he allows Jedediah’s eyes to rove, looking his fill. “Ya look real nice.”

Tickled that Jedediah is so adorably Jedediah in his fumbling attempt at flattery, Octavius chuckles softly. His dark eyes are filled with merriment. “Such poetry...” He finds it uncommonly sweet.

Jedediah traces his collarbone, fascinated. He brings his attention up, and they lock gazes, speaking with their eyes.

Uncertain what Jedediah actually wants, Octavius parts his thighs as before, permitting access.

Jedediah’s eyes flick down to stare at the firm bulge in Octavius’s undergarments. There is an answering swelling. His eyes flicker back up, and he tilts his head to the side.

Octavius nearly jumps out of his skin when Jedediah ghosts his knuckles over the most intimate part of him through the flimsy gray cloth, then palms it.

It is an exceptionally bold move, but shyness still glimmers underneath it all. In a small voice, Jedediah asks, “Are ya sure this is okay?”

“Always,” Octavius says, and means it.

“Then lie back, baby.”

A quiver runs through Octavius and he lets his head fall back as Jedediah slowly pulls the undergarments down. He shivers as he is exposed to air.

Jedediah tilts his head with sparkling eyes, fascinated. He brings his gaze up. “You're uncircumcised.”

Before Octavius can regain his senses, Jedediah leans down and seals their mouths with a kiss, taking him in hand.

Octavius opens himself up to sensation, groaning against Jedediah’s mouth. Still kissing him, Jedediah begins to stroke and pull.

Breath quickening, Octavius breaks from the kiss. It’s coming almost inhumanly quick, Jedediah stroking him a little faster.

A thumb rubs over the tip of his arousal, and he gasps, a white bolt of lightning sizzling and searing its way up his spinal column, his nerve endings. It has him shuddering and arching into the contact.

All else fades away.

* * *

_Later..._

Octavius keeps stealing secret glances at Jedediah as they stroll through the museum.

His own feelings make him shy. The power of his emotions curve his mouth. His dark eyes glow with affection, twinkling merrily, and his face glows with absolute adoration.

He allows his eyes to drift down to the hand that had lovingly stroked him to completion.

Tentatively, he extends his palm and hooks his index finger around Jedediah’s pinky.

Jedediah had been keeping his attention forward in a blank-eyed stare, but at the contact, he snaps out of his daze and glances down.

Fixating on their interlocked pinkies, he flexes his fingers. He wets his lips, bringing his eyes up. His voice is very quiet. “I hope it was okay…”

Emboldened, Octavius brings Jedediah's palm up and bestows a gallant kiss on the back of his hand. “You were wonderful.”

And Octavius cannot stop staring. Or, grinning like a loon. His face is going to get stuck this way.

Jedediah colors and glances down bashfully, but not before he can hide a relieved little smile.

Octavius leans forward and presses his lips to the corner of Jedediah’s mouth. He opens his eyes and draws back. “Marry me?”

Jedediah does not reply.

Keeping his eyes cast down, he breaks into a wide grin that stretches from ear to ear and crinkles the skin around his eyes. His gaze shines with an inner light that could only come from the heart.

He remains silent, only huffing softly.

With his other palm hiding in his pocket, Jedediah squeezes Octavius’s fingers once and then swings their clasped hands back and forth.

After a beat, Jedediah gasps, face lighting up. He whips his head. “Hey! Wanna go outside?”

Mouth open, Octavius shakes his head slightly. He is stupefied. Jedediah is, at once, mind-bogglingly complicated and adorably simple-minded. He also has a gloriously predictable one-track mind.

Not that Octavius is any better, but his mind revolves around important matters. Like, politics. And sex.

Huffing, he draws Jedediah’s lips down for a quick, smacking kiss. “I’m up for anything.”

Jedediah beams, hair vibrating in his enthusiasm for the out-of-doors. “Race ya!”

* * *

_Later..._

Laughing like a pair of children, they clutch each other. Sprinting, they stumble their way through the museum.

They round the corner, and windmill their arms, skidding to an abrupt stop.

Reggie is blocking their path with his mop in hand.

They dive for the nearest hiding place behind a decorative vase just as Reggie spins in their direction.

* * *

_Minutes later..._

Peeking their heads around the side of the vase, they quietly watch the giant.

They turn back to each other, relief etched on their faces that they have gone unnoticed.

Reggie seems in high spirits, moving jovially as he works. He twists, spins, and kicks one leg out.

Octavius thinks he hears music and he squints, searching for the source of the noise.

It is then he notices a head contraption that stretches over one of Reggie’s ears, all the way to the other.

Jedediah snickers, clutching onto Octavius. “Those are the ugliest dang earmuffs I’ve ever seen!”

Holding up his hand, Octavius quietly shushes him.

In the absolute quiet, they both can hear the music that seems to be emanating from the earmuffs.

Jedediah gets the blind stares. He stumbles, swaying in place. Octavius nearly loses his balance, but he recovers, planting his feet for the both of them.

Turning his head, Jedediah becomes hyperfocused on Octavius's neck. He lets out a breathy, shuddering sigh, and lifts his gaze; vulnerable and hopeful. “God, I want you…”

In the next instant, Jedediah has him pressed against the wall, pushing the material of Octavius's toga away from his shoulder. Jedediah’s other hand slides down to Octavius's thigh and squeezes.

Octavius stumbles, suddenly jerked forward. He feels the hard swelling at his hip and approves. Their mouths slide together. “You may have me.”

They keep kissing as Jedediah bunches up the hem of Octavius’s tunic, fingers sliding up his skin, kneading and caressing his thighs, thumbs skimming over his hips.

Octavius permits his head to fall back with a soft moan, fingers tangling in Jedediah's hair as Jedediah makes a meal of him, licking, sucking, and nibbling at the flesh of his shoulder.

“You taste good,” Jedediah murmurs between nibbles that are so very careful. He bites and then kisses the shoulder gently.

Octavius gazes into glittering blue eyes, finding eternity in them, and breathes, “Come here.”

Bending his knee, he wraps his leg around the back of Jedediah's calf, bringing them closer together.

The next thing Octavius knows, Jedediah grabs his hips, lifts him up, and his back is pressed even more securely against the wall.

Before Octavius can wrap his legs around Jedediah’s waist, Reggie lets out a whoop that startles them both.

Octavius lands back on his sandaled feet, and they break apart as the giant kicks out his leg again and spins in a circle.

Jedediah frowns. “What in the Sam Hill!”

Octavius turns and kisses the drawn down brow, shushing him. “Listen.”

Sure enough, Reggie is timing his movements to the thrumming rhythm of the magic earmuffs.

Eyes wide and mouth agape, Jedediah shakes his head. “Crazy as a road lizard…”

Octavius flicks his gaze. “He’s dancing.”

Reggie whoops and spins, gliding backward as though he’s walking forward. “Whew!”

“That ain’t dancin’.” Jedediah steps in front of Octavius, pushing him protectively behind him. Arm extended in defense, he has no weapons, not the ceremonial dagger Octavius gifted him. He didn’t even bring his nonworking guns tonight. If he did, they would be pointed directly at the giant, warning the much larger man to keep his distance.

Jedediah shakes his head. “I ain’t never seen nobody cut a rug like that. Like he's having a dang seizure.” He flaps his hand. “Gyrating his hips, snapping his limbs, walking backwards. War whoopin’.” He turns to Octavius. “Looks like he fell out of a dad-gum crazy tree and hit every branch on his way down, for crying out loud!”

Returning his focus to the giant, he cups his hands to his mouth and shouts, “Hey! You! _Gigantismo!”_  He makes shooing motions with his hands. “Vámonos! Shoo! Scram!”

“My love.” Octavius pulls Jedediah’s hands down. “Let us not create a scene...”

“He’s makin’ the scene!” Jedediah flaps his hand again and turns his head. “The boy needs medication. He ain’t right.”

_“Billie Jean is not my lover! She's just a girl who claims that I am the one..._

_But the kid is not my son…”_

With the speed of a striking cobra, Reggie flicks and retracts his limbs. He whirls into a tornado spin.

His finger points aggressively toward the ceiling as he snaps into a freakishly posed toe-stand. **_“Yow!”_**

Startled, Octavius and Jedediah scream in unison, backing up, and clutching each other for support.

“Dad-gum-it…” Jedediah breathes, dragging his eyes toward Octavius. He looks sick. “This is the last round up.”

They tremble in one another’s arms, blindsided by the turn their night has taken.

Then the meaning behind Reggie’s song catches up to Jedediah’s brain. Octavius can literally see the gears grind to a screeching halt.  

Jedediah goes belligerent. His hair begins vibrating.

He screams in the back of his throat and pushes away from Octavius. His hands clench into tight, trembling fists.

“Alright, that’s it!” He rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves. “I cain’t take it anymore. Them’s fightin’ words!” Hopping up and down, he is a bundle of feisty, frenetic energy. _“Man up and accept your responsibilities!”_

Jedediah draws himself up, hands on his hips and sucks in a breath to continue his rant.

He squeaks when Octavius covers his mouth with his hand.

Octavius tugs on his arm. “Darling. He must not see us.” He whirls in front of Jedediah and pushes him back.

A shadow falls over them, and they turn and duck behind a bench at precisely the same moment Reggie spins toward them, snapping his fingers in time to the beat.

* * *

_Later…_

They follow at a respectful distance while Reggie cleans the floors, serenading them with lyrics that are, in a word: awful.

Octavius blinks and observes Jedediah, who is adorably ruffled, hair mussed and sticking up in every direction.

A possessive spark shoots up Octavius’s spine and he decides not to fuss over Jedediah’s appearance. Jedediah can stay ruffled for all the world to see and observe. The man is spoken for. Let them drown in their own envy.

He lifts his chin and sniffs. “And I thought Western music was appalling.”

Jedediah rolls his head. “Whataya talkin’ about? My music is good music.”

Reggie spins, and they startle, scamper, and dive for the nearest hiding place.

* * *

_Later…_

Mouths open, Octavius and Jedediah stare up in horror.

Cowering, they clutch each other tightly, trapped inside a magic, singing box with a manic, bebopping crazy-eyed lunatic who’s failed to take his medication.

They had just ducked inside the box for shelter and to weather the storm, when Reggie let out a terrified yelp, took a flying leap, and swan dived into their sanctuary.

With a battle cry, the Huns charge, weapons raised. They let out piercing, angry screams.

Reggie frantically smacks discs that are embedded into the wall. They come alive, glowing bright.

_“Come on, man. Come on!”_

Eyes closed, he is sweating, trembling, and bouncing impatiently up and down. Blessedly, he is not singing, but he's making humming, irritated noises.

Before Octavius and Jedediah can make their escape from the madman, Reggie shouts.

Octavius and Jedediah scream because Reggie screams, all screaming in unison.

Lifting his mop, Reggie uses it to smack Attila in the face and drive him back.

The door dings closed.

Instantly, Octavius and Jedediah are torn from each other, finding themselves flat on their stomachs as powerful, unseen arms sweep down from above and abruptly jerks the box upward.

They continue screaming, experiencing weightlessness as the motion of their prison comes to an abrupt halt. They are slammed back down to the floor with a hard _thwack._

Reggie’s magic earmuffs saves them. He remains completely oblivious to their screaming presence, bouncing in place, breathing rapidly, and staring impatiently at the metal double doors.

“Come on, come on, come on…” he says.

“Ah, God…” Jedediah shakes his head, eyes closed. His chest heaves. “This here's the last hoedown, partner!”

Octavius breathes deep. “Farewell, my friend. By the will of Jupiter, we shall frolic once more together in the Fields of Elysian.” He peeks one eye open. “Naked.”

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, lifting his chin one final time like a true Roman, and reaches for Jedediah’s hand.

“I love y—”

The box dings.

Octavius peeks the other eye open and sits up. The doors open and Reggie scrambles out. They find themselves one floor up from where they began.

Jedediah curls into a tight ball at his side. He lifts his arm, extending it toward the ceiling. “The angels have come ta’ take us home, Ockie! Dear Lord, I ain’t ready to leave this mortal coil!”

Octavius frowns. Curious, he crawls forward on his hands and knees, peering outside of their box.

He hops up, racing back to Jedediah’s side. “Darling! We’re alive. It appears to be more magic at work.”

Jedediah shakes his head. “I don’t think so, amigo. This here’s the end of the line, pal. I got all shook up and now my belly’s chock full of bubbles.”

Octavius opens his mouth to reason with Jedediah that he’s taking it hard, inform him he is simply being fanciful and overly dramatic, when Jedediah turns his head to the side and vomits bile on the floor.

* * *

_Seconds later..._

“Sweetheart!” Octavius bends over him.

Jedediah coughs, clenching and unclenching his arms around his sides. “God. I’m dead…” He brings a shaky palm to his head. “That crazed maniac with his magic earmuffs, and his spider-like reflexes, and his killer dance moves done killed me, Ockie!”

Octavius shakes his head. He kisses Jedediah’s forehead. “No, he did not kill you.” He fusses now, smoothing down Jedediah’s hair and rubbing his quivering stomach. “It’s nerves, dearest. You’re overwrought.”

Jedediah flails. “No, it ain’t my nerves. I’m dyin’!” He turns his head, retching up more bile. Turning this way and that, he whines, holding his sides, half sobbing.

The stench belatedly hits Octavius and he wrinkles his nose in distaste.  Then he pauses. The vomit has a distinct odor. Spicy. Sickly-sweet. Intoxicatingly so.

_Intoxicating._

A frown creases his brow, and he shakes his head in denial. _“Impossible...”_

Closing his eyes, he replays their glorious evening and Jedediah’s uncharacteristic boldness.

He rifles through Jedediah’s pockets and pulls out a crumbling honey cake, sniffs it, and takes an experimental bite.

Pulling a face, he turns his head to the side and spits it out. “By the gods.” He holds his head in his hands and groans softly. “Oh, Jedediah.”

He does the only thing he can do; he reaches and gets his hands under the bend in Jedediah’s knees. He snakes his other hand under Jedediah’s back.

It is at that moment he knows Jedediah is truly ill.

_Because Jedediah does not fight him._

Instead, he turns to him for comfort, wraps his arms around Octavius’s neck, and tucks his head against Octavius’s throat.

Octavius lifts.

Jedediah keeps shaking his head. “That dad-blame giant killed me!”

Octavius attempts to shush him. “He did not. You’re intoxicated. Excessively so.”

Jedediah flings his head back and kicks his legs, throwing a mini-conniption. “Intoxicated! I cain’t be intoxicated! I’ve always been the responsible one, the reliable one. I’m a dad-blame sweetheart!”

“Hush.”

“I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. I don’t use profanity. And you saw me for who I was, and I never got ta’ dance with you!”

“Sshhh.”

Oblivious to Octavius’s attempts at soothing him, Jedediah wails, throwing his head back.

“He busted me up something awful, baby. Like a dang piñata. And now my guts are spillin’ out all over the dad-gum floor of a stupid, magic, singing box like I’m made of candy! Like gumdrops and peppermint sticks. And...and...and —”

“My heart…”

“— and he won't own up to his personal responsibilities and be a dad —” Jedediah tosses his head back, breath hitching “— and now I am _so sad!”_

Octavius hums softly, sympathetic, but noncommittal.

When one’s beloved is suffering through his first and only drunken stupor, it’s best to either simply agree with him or remain silent. Octavius opts for both.

“He needs to take his medication and stop scarin’ the blue blazes outta teeny, tiny folk!”

The box dings closed, sealing them inside. And sealing their fate.

Jedediah begins taking heaving pre-vomit gulps of breath and this is when Octavius truly begins to panic.

Unlike before, the unseen arms attempts to _lift_ Octavius off his feet, rather than flatten him.

Peering down at his beloved, he stiffens his resolve and calmly plants his feet, standing his ground.

The metal door opens with a _ding._

Octavius peers up as a shadow is cast over them both.

It is Attila and his men with their weapons still raised. They are poised to strike, screaming madly, roaring a battle cry —

— and stop abruptly when their quarry is nowhere in sight.

Eyes darting, they peer around, dumbfounded. Then, they blink and glance down at the floor.

Octavius humbles himself before Attila. His chin quivers. He glances down at his dearest friend and then slides his eyes back up.

“Please,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Help me.”

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah lies in a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor of Octavius’s bedchamber. He’d refused the bed.

Octavius combs through Jedediah’s sweat-soaked hair once before standing up and moving the vomiting bowl. He walks over to the door and knocks once.

The door is opened and a guard takes the bowl and its contents for disposal, exchanging Octavius a fresh bowl.

Assassin oinks, concerned, but not enough for him to leave his soft bed.

Jedediah turns on his side at the sound, and Octavius hastily throws his discarded paludamentum over both his pet and his pet’s intricately decorated imperial cushion.

Blinded, the pig’s head moves from side to side under the fabric. He oinks once, disgruntled, and then lays his head back down.

Jedediah squints. He peers up at Octavius and frowns.

Embarrassed, Octavius lifts his chin. He grimaces, sheepish.

In a scratchy voice, Jedediah says, “Knew you spoiled ‘em.”

Octavius’s back stiffens. “I do not spoil him. I refused to allow the diabolical little fiend on my bed. So I made arrangements. Nothing more.”

Jedediah huffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m drunk. I ain’t blind!”

Octavius places a cool cloth over Jedediah’s eyes. “You’re delirious.”

Jedediah bunches the cloth, pulling it down. He sighs, but says nothing more on the matter. He swats at Octavius’s hand when he attempts to fuss over him, and thumps his head back on his pillow.

Holding his sides, he curls into a miserable ball.

“You were gonna explain to me how I ended up three sheets to the wind when I never drank a drop of the wine.”

Octavius’s shoulders slump. He is not ready for this conversation, but he is compelled to answer truthfully. “It was the rhododendron. In your honey cakes.”

A frown creases Jedediah’s brow and he opens his mouth.

Octavius lifts his hand and stops him before he can say anything. “No. I do not believe it was malicious. Lucius was in a hurry. He failed to cook them through properly. Believe me, it will be addressed.”

Jedediah watches him, saying nothing, and Octavius explains. “It’s called honey intoxication. Caused from a toxin in the plants when improperly prepared. I’ll force you to vomit again if necessary.”

Jedediah becomes still; he wets his lips. “So you're tellin’ me. What we did —”

It is a loaded question and Jedediah lets it hang in the air.

Octavius exhales. Alcohol makes an individual more receptive and open. It merely amplifies behavior, it does not twist it. However...

He is deeply ashamed of himself. Mortified that he did not recognize that something was off with Jedediah. The evening flowed so naturally, he simply believed Jedediah was happy. That he was fully aware. That he’d wanted to. It never even occurred to Octavius it could be anything else.

And while Octavius has been innocent of machination, Jedediah may not view it that way. Octavius advantaged greatly from Jedediah’s intoxication. He had unwittingly betrayed Jedediah's trust in him.

His heart is broken and he is absolutely devastated. Glancing away, he says nothing. There is nothing to say. Except, farewell.

His chin quivers.

Sensing Octavius’s distress, Jedediah frowns. He opens bloodshot eyes.

Octavius feels a hand slide up and down on his arm.

Jedediah rolls his head. His voice is strained. “Did anyone ever tell ya —” He lifts his eyes “— that you look like an angel?”

The words are spoken deliberately, an echo from a _past_ Jedediah. His words. Spoken earlier in the evening.

Octavius’s chest heaves. His mouth trembles as tears stream down his face.

But Jedediah is not finished with him, leaning forward. “What we did together, we did _together._ Ya hear?” He ends in a whisper.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Octavius can only nod jerkily.

“I may feel like death warmed over. May want to crawl off in a hole and die from embarrassment. May even want ta’ smack you upside the knot for no reason. But I can read ya better than you think I can. And I’m here to tell ya. You were a perfect gentleman. All night. I never thought otherwise and neither should you. Okay?”

Octavius’s breath hitches. He trembles. He never expected reprieve. Never expected anything. Not forgiveness. Not anything. Not from Jedediah. Ever again.

“Don’t cry, angel-baby.” Jedediah’s thumb rubs circles into Octavius’s arm. “Don’t cry.”

Chin still quivering, Octavius leans down and presses his lips against Jedediah’s sweat-dampened hair, his closed eyelids, his temple. “I’m sorry.”

Their roles reverse. It is now Jedediah offering comfort. “Sshhh. Baby, come on. It’s okay, it’s okay. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Octavius extends his palm, gently lifts Jedediah’s chin, and tenderly kisses the side of his mouth.

Tired, Jedediah clumsily tries to kiss him back. His skin is ashen. Clammy. Sweat beads on his forehead.

“It’s okay. It’s okay…” His voice is made faint with coming sleep.  Rousing himself, his eyes snap open. He jabs his finger against Octavius’s chest. “Next time you ask me out for a night of sparkin’, we're venturing our teeny, tiny behinds outside. And when I’m ready, you owe me a handy.”

With that, he bounces his head back down on his pillow, tightens his arms around his middle, and curls in a ball.

Octavius breaks into hysterical sobs. “It is as good as done.” He lifts his chin. “I swear it.”

Without opening his eyes, Jedediah mutters, “No, it ain't!”

Octavius gathers Jedediah close, curls around him, remaining with his love on the cold stone floor for the rest of the night.

Jedediah eventually falls into an uneasy slumber, dead to the world. After a few moments of absolute quiet, Octavius whispers in his ear.

“I love you.”

They freeze this way, skin glossing and smoothing over, hardening as night becomes day.

* * *

_Later..._

When Octavius opens his eyes the next evening, his mind is a whir of half-remembered nightmares and the bitter taste of a past reality he wishes he could forget.

He is disoriented, feeling warm breath against his collarbone and the closeness of a lean, distinctly masculine form pressed up against him.

Octavius has woken with a blue-covered wrist slung over his chest and the press of a warm body at his back for so long it’s become second nature to expect it. This night, he blinks his eyes open to the sight of a white sleeve and the blurred shape of a figure directly in front of him.  

He has a moment of instant panic and startles awake, throwing the covers off him.

Then he relaxes.

Jedediah has adjusted in his sleep, turning over on his other side so they are face to face. His blond hair is wild and unruly and sticking up at every angle.

He appears much improved. The tablet working its magic, no doubt. Or, whatever artifact that sustains them and keeps them alive is doing its job.

Octavius raises up slightly, leaning his head in his hand, watching him.

Jedediah’s long eyelashes fan out, fringing healthy, nearly iridescent skin. His hair catches in the low light of the room with the soft undertones of honey and ivory. He looks like one of the divine and not meant for this world.

Jedediah’s mouth is slack. He breathes deeply, still asleep.

Octavius sees his pulse beating in his neck, steady and strong. Suddenly overcome, he reaches his hand out to cup Jedediah's face. Feels the small growth of stubble.

Jedediah tenses against his touch and shifts his weight, tucking his head. He stretches out in a line and then curls into an even tighter ball.

He frowns in his sleep and begins to stir.

The glorious, nearly perfect evening replays itself in Octavius’s mind. It is chased by devastating heartache and guilt. Like a serpent eating its own tail, the two halves of the previous night repeat in his brain in a constant neverending loop.

Jedediah shifts, eyes heavy. They flutter open. He blinks and stretches with a lazy grin. “Hey, you!”

Octavius hesitates at the reception. At last, he whispers, “Hello.” His voice is raw.

Blinking slowly, Jedediah’s heart is in his gaze. Unhurried, he lifts his palm and holds it out to Octavius.

Octavius looks at the raised hand, the slightly fanned fingers. Keeping eye contact, he slowly presses his hand to the outstretched palm. He feathers his fingers, touching them lightly against Jedediah’s fingertips.

Just as it seems Jedediah has forgiven him, there is a tremendous roar outside. The room shakes.

Octavius and Jedediah cover their faces, their heads, curling around each other for protection as wood splinters and stone crumbles, the roof of Octavius's home ripping open.

Shaking the crumbled flecks of stone from their hair, they lift their gazes, squinting into the artificial sunlight in profound silence.

Then Jedediah reaches for the blankets Octavius tossed aside and covers himself to his neck although there is nothing exposed, or left for him to cover.

Attila the Hun pokes his broad face in through the crumbling, newly-made hollow.

Eyes glittering, he breaks into a toothy grin filled with merriment and wonder. He locates both Octavius and Jedediah, and the smile stretches.

Octavius returns his attention to Jedediah. With no small amount of trepidation, he says, “Darling, I have something to tell you…”

Zeroing in on Octavius's uncharacteristic meekness, Jedediah turns his attention away from the warlord behemoth and squints at Octavius.

Suspicious, he asks, “What did you do?”

Impossibly, Attila’s smile gets even wider. He pulls his head back to extend his massive hands. Fingers splayed, his outstretched palms reach for the pair.

_“Da-ddas!”_

Jedediah whips his head. His eyes grow uncommonly wide. His hair vibrates. His lips part. His chest heaves.

His gaze asks a question; more like an accusation.

Awkwardly, Octavius angles his head. He braces himself for the explosion. “I’m afraid so.”

Attila beams. He pounds his chest with his fist, then points to his heart.

Crowding behind Attila and unseen, the other Huns lift their hands and their voices. They cheer.

“Dagnabit!”

* * *

_Later..._

Octavius folds his arm over his chest, watching, while Jedediah paces back and forth.

Lined up in a row are Silas, Bill, Nat, and Charley.

The first three fidget, rub the backs of their necks, and give off the distinct impression of shame and embarrassment over their failure to perform their duties as proper chaperones. Charley simply appears perturbed. Which is a normal state of being for him. He is also the one who put out the most effort in attempting to keep the evening chaste and Octavius’s and Jedediah’s hands off of each other.

Jedediah turns on his heel. He has been eerily calm.

Octavius pinches the bridge of his nose, waiting.

At last, Jedediah opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Fists clenched, he reopens his mouth. There are no words.

He throws his head back and screams.

When he's finished, he whirls on his men. He is back to that eerie calmness that is completely unnatural. For anyone. Much less Jedediah.

Each man toes their boots in Roman soil.

“Boys,” Jedediah finally says. He remains zen-like, once again unnaturally calm, but his hair begins vibrating as the seconds tick by without him resuming his speech.

He does an about face. His fists tremble.

Whirling, he’s back to being cool, calm, and collected. “As the co-parent of five kids —”

Octavius stops pinching the bridge of his nose and folds one arm over his chest. He lifts the other, picking absently at his thumb.

“Nine,” he interrupts.

Jedediah startles. He whirls as though he’s forgotten Octavius’s presence. “Really?” His voice is soft and a little high-pitched at the same time. _“All_ of them?”

Octavius closes his eyes, nodding.

Baby cocks her massive skull to the side. Beside her is a pregnant Sweet Pea, attended by Biscuit. Doc and Ringo stand, tucked in the outside fur-trimmed lining of Attila’s hat. With wide eyes, Attila sits expectantly on the bench, hands folded neatly on his lap. The rest of the Huns, also wide-eyed, have their hands folded. They are quiet, well behaved, and well mannered, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

The death pig peers over the side of the Roman diorama in his red, white, and blue neckerchief, sniffling at the new additions to the family. He angles his head at Octavius, confused by the multiplied number, plus one.

The members of the Caesar-Smith household are waiting for Jedediah to calm down so they can have story time, followed by the _“Mockingbird”_ song, and then they can all go play with their friends. Nicely. No ripping limbs. Because Jedediah decrees it. And because he has already enforced time-out tonight. Six times.

Jedediah closes his eyes to steady himself, breathing in and out rapidly through his nose. “As co-daddy of _nine_ kids, I’m gonna sum things up and get right to the moral of the story here, boys.”

Screaming sounds emanate from the back of his throat and he begins hopping up and down like a madman, a bundle of chaotic energy.

Stomping his foot, he exclaims, “Never, ever, _ever_ drunk-adopt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thank you goes to my super-amazing mega beta. You are incredible and an endless source of inspiration. You push me to expand my horizons. ♥
> 
> A thank you, as ever, goes to the readers. If you celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you have a healthy, happy, and safe Thanksgiving weekend. If you do not celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you stay healthy, happy, and safe. Much love. ♥


	23. Going Courtin', Part Six

* * *

_Hours later…_

Octavius stares up at the broken remains of his house. With one arm folded across his chest, he lifts the other, picking absently at his thumb.

With a sigh, he drops his arm.

“Prepare to heave, men…”  he commands his army.

He lifts his chin, his face a mask of stoicism. Without turning his head, he flicks his gaze.

Beside him, Jedediah watches, open-mouthed, as the Romans tighten their hold on the ropes wrapped around the once modest, slatted roof.

Returning here after freshening up and shrugging back into their everyday outfits, Octavius is in red, silver, and gold. He wears his bristled helmet. Jedediah is becoming in his browns, blues, and pinstripe trousers, as well as his gloves and red neckerchief.

Octavius lifts his voice. “Heave!”

The Romans pull, attempting to drag the roof back up one side of the two-story home.

“Heave!” Octavius repeats.

The call is taken up by the other Romans. “Heave! Heave! Heave!”

_Grip. Pull back. Rock forward._

_Grip. Pull back. Rock forward._

Bits of the slatted roof break apart, the efforts grinding stone against stone with each heave-ho.

The Roman army looks to him for direction. Octavius nods his assurance. “Keep heaving, men!”

_Grip. Pull back. Rock forward._

_Grip. Pull back. Rock forward._

Romans grit their teeth, wrenching, pulling, and straining. They rock forward after each colossal tug of the ropes.

The walls of the home and surrounding land tremble. Octavius can feel the soil’s upset vibrating in the soles of his sandals.

_Grip. Pull back. Rock forward._

_Grip. Pull back. Rock forward._

Roman efforts take on a pleasing rhythm, stone grinding against stone in an almost soothing rumble-crunch.

“Heave, heave, heave!” shout raised Roman voices in a continuous chant.

A blue and brown blur darts in front of Octavius, Jedediah grabbing the end of one of the ropes and helping out. He digs his booted heels into the ground and wrenches back with all his might.

_Grip. Pull back. Rock forward._

Teeth bared in mirrored snarls of concentration, all the men strain, yanking, gaining ground —

Ropes snap and the Roman army is abruptly flung off their feet and onto their backs.

The roof follows suit, crashing to the ground, rattling the foundation of the house and sending chunks of stone flying in all directions.

Windmilling his arms, Jedediah stumbles back. Octavius catches him, planting his feet. They both duck out of the way of flying projectiles.

Romans frantically cover their helmeted heads with their arms, curling into fetal positions as dust blankets them in a cloud of stone particles.

Octavius startles, coughing. He waves his hand to see through the haze. “Men!”

When the dust settles, the Romans peek their heads from the rubble one by one.

They peer at Octavius, hacking, but otherwise seem unharmed. Each soldier shakes stone flecks from his helmet and his hair. Then, they salute their emperor.

Octavius breathes a sigh of relief.

Mouth agape, Jedediah wiggles free of Octavius’s hold and pushes for distance between them.

Octavius lets him go, slowly dropping his arm. He says nothing, watching Jedediah absently dust himself off.

They lift their gazes, staring up at the brand new hole that has been created.

The nearest wall has fallen in. The home remains standing, but continues to crumble, rocks smacking against the ground.

Jedediah’s breath is coming short and quick. Shaky. His hair vibrates minutely.

Baby peers over the diorama’s edge at the destroyed inner sanctum, the fallen wall revealing the reds, yellows, and blues of Octavius’s Room of Masks.

Curious, she tilts her head in a birdlike motion, tail gently swaying back and forth behind her.

After a beat, her tail stops wagging and she rumbles uneasily, sounding unsettled by the theatre scenes and remaining, unchipped masks adorning the walls.

Even Jedediah shivers uncomfortably beside him.

Noticing, Octavius lifts his head, directing his words entirely to his daughter.

“It is perfectly alright, poppet. The greatest artists in all of Rome hand painted these fine motifs.”

Baby’s spine bristles. She sneezes, kicking up a cloud of rubble and blowing it over the already white-dusted soldiers. The action is three-parts terrified and one-part unimpressed.

The troops shriek, hacking at the unintentional assault on their lungs.

Baby snorts through her nose in warning at the paintings as though she’s afraid they will spring to life and come after her. Then she clicks her teeth together so the unmoving figures will continue remaining inanimate and keep their distance.

Jedediah nods. He whistles, and mutters, _“God awful,”_ under his breath. “Looks like something outta Dante’s Inferno.”

Back straightening, Octavius sniffs. He lifts his chin regally, offended.

Apparently, his daughter and pseudo husband have no appreciation for fine art.

Assassin stares intently at the ruin for a moment, profoundly unaffected by the paintings or the crumbling home. He spins in a complete circle, and settles down at Octavius's feet. His chin rests on his front hooves.

He lifts his eyes to gaze at Octavius adoringly.

Octavius shifts his attention from the piglet, gaze climbing back toward the roofless portion of the house. He arches an eyebrow.

Then, he blinks, peering around for the rest of his children.

The hellbeast is currently roaming on the floor, frolicking and playing with her consort — who, in Octavius’s own mind, currently does not exist, nor will he exist for some time to come. Possibly never.

Ringo and Doc have fled out of the _Hall of Miniatures_ to run amok and play rodeo with their brand new siblings: the Huns.

Jedediah settles his breathing and stops shaking.

Back to that eerie calmness from before, he very quietly speaks out of the side of his mouth to their one remaining child. “Go round up your brothers. All of ‘em.”

The dinosaur nods once, growls at the paintings one final time, then whirls.

On a mission to track down her errant siblings, she explodes out of the _Hall_ _of_ _Miniatures_ , whipping the hall’s atrocious bench down the corridor with her tail.

The bench shrieks in protest at the shove, scraping across the floor and smashing against the far wall. It twists over on its side.

Once she is gone, Jedediah flaps his hand at the ruins of the house. He stomps his feet.

Octavius holds his fist to his chin, feigning disinterest, but carefully monitors the situation out of the corner of his eye. Inwardly, he frets whilst Jedediah has his second conniption of the evening.

At least Jedediah maintained his control long enough that he didn’t have the conniption in the dinosaur’s presence. She is their sensitive one, after all. The poor, sweet, innocent, dear, little lamb.

Octavius closes his eyes, bracing himself for the explosion. Concern is rapidly spiraling out of control. It is on a downward trajectory, heading toward dread and foreboding.

Completely ignoring the devastation of the turned-over bench, Jedediah points at the ruin of Octavius’s house and clenches tight, trembling fists.

He lifts his head and shouts at the top of his lungs. “This here is why we can't have nice things!"

* * *

_Days later..._

Octavius stands with Jedediah, far from pleased.

In the daylight hours, his modest home was uprooted without his consent and discarded behind the Coliseum where its devastation cannot be seen by passersby.

Jedediah forgave him for the accidental alcohol poisoning. He’s even calmed down and accepted the subsequent epic, quintuple adoption even though it is the only action from their courtship night he claims not to remember.

Now Jedediah is beyond livid.

This is his fourth conniption in as many days since the double conniption that first evening. So — six conniptions in total. It would appear he is striving toward some sort of personal goal.

Fists clenched, he bounces up and down.

Finding Octavius’s home has become somewhat of a twisted game they play. Each night they awaken to discover it has been moved and hidden somewhere behind one structure or another within the Roman diorama. It is never in the same place twice.

Last night it had been found even more cracked than before, lying discarded on its side. A thoughtlessly tossed aside plaything.

Octavius had been understandably upset at the grievous offense. Jedediah, on the other hand, had gone through the roof.

Jedediah squats down, running bare fingers along stone, inspecting the home. Finding even more fissures have appeared in the structure, he bounces up.

Throwing his head back, he screams. He grips his Stetson in both hands and sends it flying from his head.

It hits the ground with a bounce and rolls away from the madman.

Octavius purses his lips, silently watching the raving lunatic kick up Roman soil.

Jedediah may have forgiven him, but Octavius remains unsettled by their night of drunken passion. At least in regards to Jedediah’s part in it.

Right or wrong, he feels as though he’s walking a fine line, on eggshells, waiting for Jedediah to call off their entire relationship — their friendship included.

Since becoming friends, shared danger has forged a strong bond between them. It’s made them close. And, yet…

Jedediah is becoming increasingly unstable. His moodiness and constant conniptions, coupled with Octavius’s own awakened militant conscience have done a number on him personally and have caused a severe disruption to his household.

His confidence is shattered.

“Darling, please,” he reasons. “I can see the vein bulging in your forehead. You’re going to have a brain aneurysm if you’re not careful.”

Jedediah continues bouncing, becoming more and more agitated. Fists tightly clenched, he whirls. “They can’t keep doin’ this, Ockie! They can’t!”

Octavius raises his upturned palms placatingly. “Who?”

Lifting his finger, Jedediah points out into the hall. “Them!”

The proverbial _them_ again.

Octavius sighs.

While he can make an educated guess _who_ Jedediah is referring to, the crux of the matter is they can never be certain. Not definitively. And it isn’t as though they are ever going to be awake to catch the miscreants in the act.

Jedediah begins pacing, and Octavius follows the erratic, jerky movements with his eyes.

“They keep moving your dad-blame house! Your house is _your_ house! It has its place!” Jedediah pulls at the ends of his hair. “Movin’ your house. Things comin’ up missing —”

Octavius crosses his arms and interrupts. “Dearest, they are merely _things_ —”

He startles when his arms are suddenly gripped painfully tight, stumbling as Jedediah pulls him forward.

Octavius doesn't flinch, but his eyes bug out of their sockets. Even when they were enemies, Jedediah had rarely been genuinely rough with him.

For one moment in time, the self-preserving stoicism he’s adopted over the past week slips beyond his iron-willed control. Anguish and uncertainty flicker in his gaze.

Jedediah regards him, breathing heavily, shocked and unmoving. There is confusion in his blue eyes.

He releases Octavius and pushes him back. His hands tremble. In fact, his entire body trembles. He covers his face with his hands.

Abruptly, he returns to pacing, smoothing down the ends of his hair. “I-I’m sorry.”

Octavius demurs with a wave of his hand, the action already forgiven. He is, instead, greatly relieved to finally catch a glimpse of his best friend in and amongst this seething upset.

“I just —” Jedediah whirls back around and throws his head back. He screams and pulls at the ends of his hair again, once more in a frenzy.

Octavius lifts his hands, unsure what the maniac currently possessing Jedediah will do next.

An involuntary spasm ripples through him when Jedediah throws himself forward. He stumbles backward, squeaking when blue-covered arms encircle him. Only this time, he is startled for an entirely different reason.

A little gasp escapes his parted lips, an enormous weight, at once, lifting.

“Beloved…”

He sighs against Jedediah’s shoulder, his arms automatically coming around Jedediah in a returned embrace.

“It ain’t the _things_ that’s got me all riled,” Jedediah whispers urgently in his ear.

Octavius hums. His fingertips glide up Jedediah’s shoulder blades, thumb stroking back and forth against the back of his neck.

Not soothed by the gesture, Jedediah says, “What if this is just the beginning, Oct? Them giants ain't respectful. What if more than just your house starts disappearin’ and turnin’ up in odd places. Or, don’t turn up at all? What if it's people?”

“Such an action would prove uncharacteristic. The night guards are caretakers. Not tyrants.”

“Doncha see? That's just it. It _is_ characteristic. Them giants _don’t_ care. Not about us. Act like caretaking this place is an imposition. That lookin’ after us is some kind of a chore when it ain’t. When we don't go around bothering anybody.

“If ya don’t believe me, look at the state of your house! Who does that? They're gettin’ more and more brazen with their feelings. They're makin’ a statement.”

Jedediah takes a deep breath and continues in a hushed whisper, “They won’t even fix your dad-blame house for cryin’ out loud. What if the next time they up and decide — because your house got broke — you’re too high maintenance. That you're too much of a hassle ta’ keep around and they toss ya both away? Like garbage. Like _things!”_

At last, they’ve gotten to the root of Jedediah’s mental instability, the breakdowns, and his mounting, uncontrolled frenzy. It isn’t what Octavius suspected at all. Not even a little. It thaws his heart and he cannot help but fall a little deeper in love.

Opening his mouth, he is at a loss. He wills himself to speak, but can barely catch his breath. Shakes his head. He can honestly say he had not considered this.

“I couldn't stand it, ‘Tavius. It’d kill me. You and your belongings ain't nobody's trash. Not ta’ me. Not ta’ anybody, ya hear? I need you!”

“And I need you.” His arms tighten around Jedediah, hands smoothing patterns down his back. “I’m certain my house is being moved because it has become an eyesore, and they're attempting to find a suitable place to hide it. Nothing more sinister than that.”

Jedediah releases him slightly to point down at the ground. Their eyes meet and hold. His gaze is sharply focused, challenging.

“It’s an eyesore that could be fixed if they tried. Or if they gave a hoot. If I were their size, it woulda taken all of two minutes! And I woulda made it shine up real nice!”

It’s true.

Jedediah’s hair vibrates, and he begins trembling again.

Octavius presses his lips to Jedediah’s temple. “Sshhh…”

Jedediah’s hold tightens. “And that don’t explain your belongings goin’ missing…”

Octavius has no answer for this. Except, perhaps, for the hole in the roof. And the walls.

He shuts his eyes, nuzzling close, relishing Jedediah’s nearness. The warm scent of him. He has missed his friend terribly these past few nights and is content to remain where he is. To block out the world for a moment and simply exist.

Feeling too confined, Jedediah wiggles free. His hands squeeze Octavius’s arms again, pushing him back a little so he doesn't feel quite so trapped. While his grip remains tight, it is not painful.

Octavius blinks. His gaze is doe-eyed.

All at once, Jedediah gasps, face lighting up.

“Ockie!” He releases his grip and swats Octavius to get his attention. “I think I got an idea!”

“Hmm?”

“They can’t toss you aside if they can’t find ya!”

Octavius's brow furrows. He stares blankly at Jedediah’s determined face, but is pulled in by the enthusiasm in that beloved voice. “Do tell.”

Jedediah grips Octavius’s arms again and bounces up and down excitedly, his idea obviously revitalizing him. His eyes are bright. “Move in with me!”

Octavius’s jaw drops open. He stands, speechless once more. Then he blinks. Blinks twice. Blinks three times. He gawks, shaking his head, obviously not having heard Jedediah correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

Jedediah repeats himself and adds, “Let’s be outlaws. We can hide out in my tent during the day!” He bounces as though it's the best idea in the world, grinning from ear to ear.

Octavius feels dizzy. Then his mouth curves up. The soft, feminine drawl of the southern belle returns to his voice. “Why, Sugar! I thought you’d never ask.”

Jedediah’s face goes slack, eyes growing comically wide, as though he hadn’t quite thought his plan through and his brain is only now kicking in fully.

Octavius tilts his head like a bird of prey, playing with the top buttons of Jedediah’s shirt collar. Jedediah’s conclusion to recent events seems perfectly logical, well-reasoned, and not an overreaction at all. And certainly not a ploy to get them in bed together.

Jedediah peers down at the hand and swats it.  

“Come on, would ya focus for, like, two seconds! This is me here, okay?” He lifts his finger, and clears his throat, blushing gloriously. “I wanna keep you safe.”

Jedediah's words sink in, and Octavius takes a breath. He considers with a frown, remembering precisely who he’s with.

He sighs, and stops flirting via buttons. No. Not a ploy at all.

Jedediah is simply being Jedediah. Not the flailing, shaking, seething, screaming, bouncing up and down, arm-grabbing lunatic he’s been subjected to over the past four nights, but the love of his life. In all of his impulsive, protective, manly glory.

Somberly, Octavius leans in and brushes his lips against Jedediah’s temple. His friend’s eyes close. It is noted.

Octavius steps back. “Of course.” He pats Jedediah’s chest once. Dropping his hand, he hums once more and turns on his heel.

An idea forms, and a wolfish smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

The invitation is an immensely progressive move for Jedediah no matter how it is explained or broken down. And Octavius plans to make this opportunity count.

* * *

_Days later…_

Standing with his arms behind his back, Octavius watches with extreme patience as Attila clacks the remains of Octavius’s roof and house together.

Lifting his gaze, Attila whispers to Octavius in bewilderment. He scratches his head and rolls his wrist, calling his brothers close.

The other Huns gather.

Tilting their heads, they each appear to be offering advice in their own tongue while Attila attempts to fathom out how he’s supposed to repair the broken pieces of the home.

Octavius arches an eyebrow as more delicate stones crumble between Attila’s fingers. He watches them fall to the tile floor below, glad Jedediah is currently occupied.

Since the night guards won’t repair the damage, and because Attila is the one responsible for the current state of Octavius’s home, Jedediah has tasked him and the other four newest members of their household to make the repairs. Pronto.

Jedediah didn’t even stutter when confronting and bossing around their volatile, much larger brood. He simply snapped his fingers, pointed, and put them all to work.

It has quickly become Jedediah’s personal mission to demonstrate to the powers that be that the miniatures are self-reliant. Once the repairs are finalized, Octavius will move back to Rome in triumph, proving their own resourcefulness. And their worth. That the exhibits need no assistance from the night guards or the intervention of anyone else.

Their sons continue to hold conference over the broken house.

Octavius clears his throat, interrupting their intense debate.

“I’m in no hurry,” he advises, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Take your time.”

The Huns lift their eyes, cocking their massive heads at him.

Attila loudly protests, making large sweeping motions with his hands. Then he clacks the house and roof together again.

Octavius can almost hear the echo of his beloved’s words in Attila’s sign language. _Pronto!_ Followed by: _Dad-gum-it!_ with an echo of a whip crack.

How Jedediah does this remains a mystery.

Octavius peers left and then right, making certain Jedediah is nowhere in sight and certainly not within hearing distance of what he's about to say.

Jedediah is currently the _pack mule,_ moving Octavius's personal items about and into the Old West, along with a military issue, iron bed. For one. Jedediah refuses to share Octavius's own bed even though it is large enough for them both. So it is remaining behind. Jedediah insists he's sleeping on the ground.

Observing the coast is clear, Octavius lifts a hand to cup his mouth. He leans forward in order to keep their conversation private. In a stage whisper, he says, “Take your time on the repairs,” he repeats. Lifting his voice only slightly, he confides, _“I'm wooing your father.”_

Stunned, the Huns blink. They gawk at him. Their mouths hang open in childlike wonder, lifting up ever so slightly at the corners. More stones crumble and fall as Attila’s hand flexes involuntarily.

Octavius arches an eyebrow in quiet approval. Before long he won’t have a home left.

Each Hun cocks his fur-hatted head, starlight in their gazes.

Behind them, Baby perks up. She lifts her massive skull over top of them all.

Bird-like, she tilts her head and coos softly. Her tail points ramrod straight, then fans the Mayan diorama, once again blowing out their sacred flame.

Ignoring the aggrieved shouts from his neighbors, Octavius’s mouth curves up. He closes his eyes and nods once.

Eyes bright, the Huns peer at one another excitedly. They lift their hands and their voices, bouncing on their toes. They cheer.

Baby roars.

The force of his children’s combined enthusiasm has Octavius stumbling backward and falling onto his rump.

Legs splayed out in front of him, he shakes his head. His ears are ringing and he’s seeing stars.

From his peripheral vision, he catches sight of Jedediah poking his blond head out of the Old West.

_“Hey! What in the Sam Hill’s goin’ on over there!”_

In his most syrupy-sweet voice, Octavius shouts back, “Nothing, dearest!”

His attention drifts back to his children and he lifts a finger to his lips. It is their secret.

Baby cocks her head, then opens her jaws in wonder. She barks and nods once at the ruse.

The Huns lift their own fingers to their lips, leaning forward and shushing each other wildly. They are still bouncing, causing a slight tremor in the floor.

Octavius grins, but arches an authoritative eyebrow. It would appear he is going to have to take his sons aside and instruct them on the gentle art of subtlety.

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah and Silas grunt as they set down Octavius's bed inside of Jedediah's tent.

Breathing heavy from the strain, they stumble back, both taking a moment to get their bearings. They slump forward, hands resting on their knees.

“Shit-fire, boy!” Silas mutters. He pants. “Ya gonna have us haulin’ the rest of Rome on over here while yer at it, Mister High and Mighty?”

Octavius gives him a dull stare. He folds his arms over his armor-plated chest. His voice is very quiet and calm. “If I deem it necessary.”

Jedediah rolls his eyes and straightens, heading out to grab the rest of Octavius’s belongings.

Octavius’s gaze flicks to him briefly, then drifts back to Silas. He should be grateful for the help and the use of the tent. However, there is still the little matter of Biscuit impregnating his daughter.

His lips curl out of reflex and Silas drops the subject, hurrying out of the tent to assist Jedediah before Octavius decides to charge.

Octavius glances around his surroundings. These really are close quarters. He and Jedediah may not be sharing a bed, but Octavius will be close enough to enjoy his company.

He feels the first flutter of butterfly wings in his belly. And his first moment of anxiety.

With the bed in place, Felix drifts from Bill’s side to begin dressing the bed with the mattress and a set of dark red, silken sheets in neat, precision-style swiftness.

Octavius arches his brow, but remains silent. The young man has always had a tendency for cleanliness and order that any general could appreciate.

In no time at all, the corner of Jedediah's tent has become modest accommodations for Octavius. A single bed, an iron chest filled with some garments and weaponry. A stand near his bed for his armor, or to wrap his angel toga around for decoration.

Knowing Jedediah’s preference for the toga, it may see some wear within the privacy of their shared quarters.

He’s keeping his options open on that score. He’d been initially excited when Jedediah had invited him to stay. Overjoyed, in fact. Amused. A little smug. However, after several nights of pondering over these living arrangements, he realizes Jedediah may come to regret his offer.

A man's personal space is his sanctuary. It is sacred and vitally important, and Jedediah is no exception to that rule. The same could be said for Octavius. The pair of them might not get on. They could clash. Butt heads.

Not to mention that if Jedediah’s notions of a reckoning comes to fruition and their people do begin disappearing over minor offenses, Octavius will not be able to remain in the Old West. He is the Roman emperor, after all. His foremost duty is to his people. Even if it means his demise.

Octavius frowns as Felix fluffs his favorite pillow and places it at the head of the mattress, then whips the death pig's imperial cushion from an ornately decorated sack. He sets it against the side of the bed opposite of where Jedediah plans to sleep.

The death pig has been choosing to keep Sweet Pea company over the last several nights because she’s been irritable and miserable, but his bed is here, waiting.

Jedediah and Silas return with the last of the belongings.

Crossing his arms, Octavius’s gaze drifts toward his friend. He blushes, embarrassed by Felix’s coddling. The fretting is reminiscent of a distraught parent sending their only child off on his own for the first time.   

Jedediah is oblivious, speaking quietly to Bill and Silas. He seems at ease. For the moment.

Their eyes lock briefly and Jedediah graces him with a shy smile.

Octavius smiles back, fully aware of the trust Jedediah is placing in him by allowing him to stay. Regardless of their romantic misadventures and sexual misfires.

Octavius nods to himself.

Despite his deliciously immoral fantasies and his grand schemes of sweeping Jedediah off his feet, he vows to be on his very best behavior. _For_ _Jedediah_. He is a guest, and desires to stay. And to remain respectful.

Unless Octavius’s safety proves to be a ruse and Jedediah simply wishes to keep him close in order to do all manner of delightfully obscene and naughty things to him, that is. In which case, _ding_ _dong!_ He'll admit to all and sundry he’s a kept man, and an entirely willing participant in his own debauchment.

Felix salutes Octavius when he is finally finished with his fretting and tidying up.

Octavius's drawn face relaxes into a fond smile and he claps Felix on the shoulder once, unable to mask the fatherly gaze he bestows upon the young man before he gently pushes him toward Bill.

The helmet thief wraps an arm around Felix’s waist and plants a wet kiss on him.

Felix wipes jerkily at his cheek. Then his gaze widens. “Oh!” He claps. “I almost forgot!” He hurries from the tent, only to return with an overlarge sack. “I managed to salvage your safeguard against malignant spirits, my liege!”

Felix lifts the symbol of protection from the sack with all the dramatic flourish of a magician.

Pride in his eyes, he takes a step back, holding the housewarming gift aloft.

Jedediah whips his head at the telltale _tink, tink, tink_ of windchimes.

* * *

_Later..._

Open-mouthed, Jedediah has not moved a muscle in all of ten minutes. Not even to usher his abruptly mute company out of the tent.

They left on their own.

The one drawback of Jedediah having the power of the wind in his back pocket is the utter lack of self-awareness he has when his emotions call forth a tempest.

_Tink. Tink. Tink._

The windchimes sway back and forth, tinkling out a merry rhythm with each puff of air.

Octavius’s mouth quivers.

“Stop smilin' like that,” Jedediah says absently. His hair keeps ruffling with each swirling wind gust that spreads out within the confines of the tent.

_Tink. Tink. Tinkle-tinkle tink._

Octavius must forcibly clamp down hard on his emotions in order to keep his face stern and commanding. He lifts his chin grandly. The light in his eyes give him away.

He ducks his head as he leans forward, keeping his pteruges pulled down past his knees. They keep lifting of their own accord as the wind picks up around them.

Items all over the room are lifting, objects blowing over and getting scattered. The angel toga rips itself from the armor stand, and drapes itself upon Octavius’s previously precision-made bed.

Within the whirlwind, the toga and sheets coil around each other in a frenzied, sensual dance.

Jedediah’s gloved hands tremble as he attempts to concentrate on something other than the gigantic, engorged phallus dangling from the center of the windchimes.

His expression is one of absolute mortification, as though he’s pondering which wrong turn he’s taken in life that's led him to this point.

Currently, he and the chimes are having some sort of bizarre battle of wills. Strange? Quite. Improbable? Probably. Happening? Absolutely. From what Octavius has been able to fathom, Jedediah is not winning.

In a hushed whisper, Jedediah intones out of the side of his mouth, _“It keeps starin’ at me…”_

Octavius bites down on his bottom lip. “Darling,” he says reasonably. “Penises do not stare.”

The chimes sway, the engorged phallus rocking in his direction. It tinkles a plaintive melody as though to correct his assertions.

_Tink. Tink. Tinkle-tinkle tink._

The phallus twists back around toward Jedediah, swaying to and fro.

Jedediah’s hair vibrates. He is seemingly afraid to take his eyes off the windchimes, lest it attack. Shoulders tense, he refuses to break “eye contact.”

Slowly, he says, _“This one does…”_

Octavius doubles over, laughing into his open palm. Unable to find anything to hold onto, he sinks onto his mattress, effectively putting a halt to the dance of fabric. He keeps his mouth covered, his whole body shaking with silent mirth.

Jedediah frowns and the wind kicks up. Octavius's toga whips and swats him, blowing over his eyes.

Octavius bunches the cloth, pulling it from his face, laughing so hard he lets out an unflattering, less than regal snort.

“Oh my God! Would ya stop laughing? I ain’t playin’!”

* * *

_Later…_

It isn’t long before Jedediah puts his foot down. While he may be a loving, caring, and decent individual attempting to do right by Octavius, offering him sanctuary during the day and providing him a modest home away from home, there is apparently no room in his heart — or his tent — for phallus-shaped windchimes.

Without speaking, he points first at Octavius, then at the offending possession, giving a silent, but all too obvious ultimatum: either the windchimes go or Octavius does.

Octavius takes them outside. They _ting_ softly with his movements, swaying against the slight breeze within the diorama.

He’s crouching low, hammering a stake in the soil by his new home when he gets a funny feeling. His skin abruptly crawls with anxiety, as though he is being watched. With some trepidation he realizes all noise, all movement near him has ceased.

Peering around slowly, he finds every pair of American eyes fixed on him.

There are low murmurs throughout the congregated crowd, a bold, controlled conspiracy of focus. As one, their eyes seem to shift from him to land directly upon his possession.

The windchimes are mundane in his culture, hardly worth a second of appraisal, but apparently it is completely unnatural here. Wrong.

It is at this moment he realizes how much of a stranger he is in this strange land. Oddly enough, he’s never quite felt this sensation before. At least, not in the Old West, and most assuredly not while he’s been in Jedediah’s company. Even when Jedediah had him thrown over his shoulder, hauling him off to the stockade for one offense or another.

The puritans among the crowd fall over in a dead faint at the sight of the decoration. The more enlightened ones hum in appreciation and kick at the legs of the puritans in an attempt to revive them. They stay down.

Cowboys Octavius has never met give him a thumbs up over the bold display of manliness. Others flush a brilliant scarlet and turn their heads sharply, giving him and the tent a wide berth.

Shocked at his own lack of regalness, he feels heat slowly rising to his cheeks as some of the women gawk, openly studying the windchimes. Some of them have their mouths hanging open, the same expression Jedediah had, seemingly hypnotized, and unable to look away. Others point and giggle behind their gloved palms or their parasols, the current topic of the day bringing a steadily growing number of onlookers.

They all stare straight at him, a touch of mischief in their gazes.

Throughout his existence he’s been the subject of discussion for one reason or another; he should be perfectly at ease with the attention. However, it is the giggles that bring the color to his cheeks and reenforce the unnaturalness of his possession here in the Old West.

Octavius takes a self-conscious step back toward Jedediah’s tent with the chimes in hand.

Inside the sanctuary, the tempest kicks up again, billowing the tent flaps out wildly.

Octavius considers his options. The chimes cannot return to Rome. It would be an affront to Felix and his devotion of restoring them to their former glory after the near-demolition of his house.

He unclasps his paludamentum from his shoulders. Face grim, jaw set, he drapes the red cloth over the chimes.

It seems to break the spell the Americans have fallen under. Everyday noises kick back up again, and the settlers quiet down and move along toward their intended destinations.

Off to his right, Octavius sees the brothel and climbs to his feet.

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius opens the tent flap and finds Jedediah lying flat on his back on the ground. His eyes are big and round; his jaw is set as he broods, staring up at the ceiling.

The wind has died down, which is a good sign.

Without looking at Octavius, he murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

Octavius shakes his head, crossing over to his bed. He sits down on the edge of the mattress, hands clasped on his lap. “You’ve been repeating that phrase often of late.”

Jedediah merely shrugs one shoulder.

Octavius wets his lips and ponders.

After agonizing for days that Jedediah had lost all regard for him, petty disagreements over material possessions do not seem so all-encompassing. “You have done nothing wrong. There is no need to apologize.”

Remaining on his back, Jedediah grips his belt. He crosses one ankle over the other. “I told ya that you and your belongings weren’t trash. Then I made ya give up something important of yours that was cultural. All ‘cause I couldn’t cope.” He shakes his head. “Ain’t right.”

“Your comfort is important to me. This is your home, Jedediah. I am merely a guest.”

Jedediah’s gaze flicks briefly over to Octavius before settling back on the ceiling. He makes no comment.

Octavius shrugs, undeterred by his silence. “I will survive. I must grow accustomed to the knowledge that Rome fell. And many of my customs along with it. My windchimes represent an outdated notion from a forgotten age.”

“Not so forgotten.”

Octavius tilts his head at this, waiting for Jedediah to elaborate.

When Jedediah remains silent, Octavius scoots back on his mattress and stretches out. He interlocks his fingers, resting them on his armor-plated stomach, settling in.

After a beat, Jedediah says, “Rome ain’t been forgotten, Oct. At least, in my time, it hasn’t. Many of the laws America uses came from Rome. Its customs gettin’ handed down through time. Through the generations. We even used some of Rome’s fundamental principles when starting our fine nation.”

Warmth blossoms in Octavius’s chest at the thought of any of Rome’s values having significance, and the strength and virtue to survive the expanse of time. It is foolish, he realizes, but he feels a pang of loss. Not over the windchimes, but for what they represent. Home.

Of course, he knows this is rather a silly notion given that all he has to do is climb down from one diorama and up into another. It isn’t as though he cannot return.

Jedediah must sense his emotions, because his gaze flickers. He turns on his side, propping his head against his hand.

“Ya know. Romans and Americans ain’t all that different. We both threw off a power bigger than us to establish ourselves and find our place in this world. So, no. Rome, as you know it, it ain’t gone. It’s just been shuffled around a bit. It’s here. It never fell.”

Octavius smiles softly and Jedediah offers a small quirk of the lips.       

“If you want, I could try and get used to the windchimes. I didn’t really give ‘em a fair shake.”

The skin around Octavius’s eyes crinkles up. He snorts at the unintentional and completely inappropriate mental image Jedediah’s words conjure up in his mind.

Jedediah frowns, brow crinkling in confusion, and Octavius demurs with a wave of his hand. The explanation is unimportant.

A soft breeze cuts in from outside, ruffling the toga draped around the armor stand.

The idea of welcoming the windchimes back into the tent very obviously unsettles Jedediah, but he is willing to try and get used to them. _For him._ It warms Octavius’s heart and he finds himself falling a little deeper in love.

Sitting up, he rises from the bed and pads over to Jedediah.

Brow furrowing, Jedediah watches him hover above him with a look of uncertainty in his gaze. He levers himself up slightly, leaning his weight on his elbows.

Octavius knows without touching him there is no give to his muscles. He is skittish, already prepared to bolt. Jedediah is taming down — has tamed considerably — but he is still feral.

In order not to alarm him, Octavius takes his time, keeping his movements slow and unhurried. He settles on the ground, sliding up next to his friend. “The windchimes are safe where they are and amongst friends.” He sniffs grandly. “And I can visit them whenever I so choose.”

Jedediah begins to relax. He snorts, rolling his eyes, but Octavius is certain he didn't imagine the twitch at the corners of his friend’s mouth. “Evenings. Weekends. Holidays. Christmas.”

Octavius’s brow furrows. “I don’t know Christmas.”

“I’ll show you. It’s real nice. But I ain’t decorating your dad-blame windchimes like it’s a doggone Christmas tree. Ain’t happening now, or fifty years from now, kemosabe.”

Octavius nods absently, wondering what on Earth a Christmas tree is supposed to look like. “Fair enough.”

Seeing as how Jedediah has not protested his company, Octavius settles in, rolling on his opposite side away from his friend.

The tension eases from the room, their silence companionable.

Octavius is dozing when he feels a blanket being spread over him, and then a blue-sleeved arm comes around his waist, a bare hand settling over his armor-protected heart.

“I can’t feel your heartbeat,” Jedediah murmurs.

Octavius covers that hand with his own, thumb stroking over knuckles. “It’s there.” He angles his head. “Still beating for you.”

Jedediah smacks him, but the swat is good-natured. “Enough of that, now,” he mumbles, sounding bashful.

Octavius hums. The tent grows quiet once more.

Eventually, he too, relaxes.

They have a few hours until morning before his chest tightens and he will be called to return to his army. He will, of course, not go. He is in hiding, after all. An outlaw. Lest, come daybreak, the night guards spirit him away for the offense of breaking his own house, never to be heard from again.

At least according to Jedediah’s fevered imaginings. Octavius isn’t entirely convinced.

Regardless, Octavius will remain with Jedediah during the day because his beloved wills it of him. At night he may return to his army and be the emperor Rome requires. When the night guards are not looking, of course.

It is a fine bit of jumbled logic to be sure, but then again, who is Octavius to argue? Especially when he is content and precisely where he wishes to be, and with whom.

He allows himself to doze, only to be awoken again by a cough.

Jedediah lifts his head. “You understand I didn't invite ya over here so we could be doin’ the dirty in quiet, right?”

Octavius chuckles warmly, still lightly stroking Jedediah’s knuckles. He hums. “A man can dream.”

“The other night. It was just a fluke.”

“I know.”

Octavius had already figured as much despite his fantasies to the contrary. Surprisingly, he has come to terms with this. While he’ll never say sex isn’t important, it is what it is. He greatly prefers the closeness he shares with his best friend to that of any lover he has ever known. Sexual intimacy would have simply been an added bonus.

Jedediah clears his throat. “I mean. I know I was forward and all. Lit up like I was. And I got your hopes up. But…”

“Sshhh. There is no need to explain.”

“I was raised that we can’t be doin’ any of those things. It can’t happen.” Jedediah shakes his head. “It ain’t right.”

Octavius nods, eyes closed. “Perfectly understandable.”

“At least. Not until we’ve been hitched up, good and proper.”

Octavius’s eyes snap open.

* * *

_Days later..._

Octavius stands staring in thought, one hand under his chin. Utilizing his other hand, he cups his elbow close to his body.

Having been performing duties in Rome most of the night, he has finally been able to pull away for some privacy. He wanders his gardens.

He’s been contemplating his marriage proposal to Jedediah. The gesture must be grand enough to grab his beloved’s attention and hold it long enough to get a ring slipped on his finger and a machete in his hand. He considers a celebration. Perhaps, a parade.

He dismisses the idea at once.

Jedediah would tip his Stetson down over his eyes, face burning so brightly he’d likely melt into the floor. Jedediah’s ways are quiet and not showy in the slightest. Except when he’s having a mental breakdown.

Now that Octavius has moved into the Old West, it has become a less frequent occurrence. Although Octavius cannot take full credit. Since the adoption of the entire Hun clan, even Jedediah’s boundless energy is depleted by the end of the night.

With their previous children, they had both had the luxury of somewhat of an adjustment period between adoptions. This time, Jedediah had woken up to five extra, excited faces peering down at him. Lately, he falls asleep on Octavius’s shoulder well before dawn. One memorable instance, he’d nodded off during story time.

Octavius had lifted him up and carried him back to their tent, much to the _oo's_ and _ah’s_ and cheers from their children.

Hearing the scuffling of sandals on stone, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

Octavius's brow arches. He stops walking, eyes tracking the progression of Felix.

The young soldier is pacing a hole in the stone path.

Felix marches back and forth, arms flailing. He sounds possessed with all the half-formed words, stunted sentences, and rumblings he’s making.

Octavius lowers his arms and clasps his hands behind his back. With an audible sigh, he realizes Felix’s brand new helmet is missing, his tousled mop closely beginning to resemble Jedediah’s in all but color. It doesn’t take much of an effort to guess where the helmet has spirited off to.

Felix stops pacing, whirls and lifts his head to the heavens. Fists clenched, he falls to his knees, wrenching at his armor. Shouting to no one in particular, he names his tormentor. _“Bill!”_

Octavius peers up at the Roman sky for guidance. _“Jupiter, give me strength.”_

* * *

_Weeks later..._

Life with the Huns proves interesting.

Octavius has lost count of how many times Jedediah greets their newest with: _“Oh my God! What's in your mouth? Spit it out! Spit it out! Spit it out!”_ or _“Boys, I swear to God. If you don’t put that metal man down right now, I will stop what I’m doing and bend you all over my knee!”_

At first, Octavius suspected Jedediah had been subconsciously competing with his mother. There had been fourteen surviving children in the Smith household. Of course, Jedediah’s parents never had to contend with the added difficulty of keeping children one hundred times their own size respectful and well-behaved.

No one can say his brood does not mind him. Even if it takes a few warnings and a considerable amount of stomping. However, Octavius believes Jedediah is throwing in the towel at nine before the tenth adoption breaks his spirit.

* * *

_Weeks later…_

It’s been a particular rough night corralling the Caesar-Smith clan. Sweet Pea is very pregnant and in a mood. Baby is restless and has wanted to play hide and seek all evening. Ringo and Doc have been off exploring the silvery tunnels for themselves and came back dusty-dirty, and slimy — which Octavius does not even want to contemplate. And the Huns. Well. They are pouting after getting put in time-out for the seventh time tonight.

Octavius is convinced they are never going to fix his house. Which is fine. He’s perfectly content to remain where he is. And, thus far, once Attila secreted the broken home from the Roman diorama, the powers that be seemed to have been appeased and lost interest in the happenings of the miniatures. There have been no further physical signs of a coming reckoning.  

They have settled in for the night, Octavius cleaning his sword and Jedediah whittling on a scrap piece of wood he found. They work in companionable silence when Jedediah gets the call Octavius had predicted for months.

It would appear that the bedroom games of Jedediah’s friend and the Mayan woman have finally gotten out of hand. Medical services are required.

When Jedediah returns home a couple hours later, his expression is haunted. He has the blind stares, shuffling, appearing as though he’s been through a war.

Uncharacteristically, he tosses his satchel aside without properly hanging it up.

He is quiet and withdrawn, and giving Octavius spooked, jerky glances.

Octavius bends down, retrieving the satchel and hanging it properly, returning it to its place.

“Ockie?” Jedediah says quietly after a time. His voice is subdued.

Octavius turns, lifting an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

Jedediah wets his lips. “I’ve seen some things tonight I can’t unsee.”

The skin around Octavius’s eyes crinkle. Amused, he chuckles and leads Jedediah over to the single-person bed. He pushes Jedediah back, making him sit.

Jedediah plops down hard with a bounce. He shakes his head, a lock of baby fine, blond hair falling into his eyes. “So…” He glances up. “I guess I figured out what fellatio is.”

Octavius lifts both of his eyebrows, making a noncommittal noise. His mouth quirks up at the corners.

Jedediah is silent, staring off into space. He gets the shivers, then shakes his head. “I mean. Why?” He squints, peering back up at Octavius. “Why would ya wanna do _that_?”

Octavius tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Because when it’s performed properly, it’s an highly enjoyable act.”

Jedediah stares at him blankly. Expectantly. His gaze seems to be searching Octavius’s eyes. “For _who?”_

“Mostly for the lover on the receiving end of it. Although, it is not unheard of for the one giving pleasure to find it stimulating.”

Jedediah raises both of his eyebrows. His expression is disbelieving. He shivers again, facing away from him in an almost-pout, defensive. “Well, I don’t see what could be so darn great about it.”

Octavius rolls his eyes, and sits down on the bed beside him. He rests his clasped hands on his lap. “You wouldn’t, dearest. As I’ve said before. It is a matter of trust. And one typically does not allow someone near them who has teeth like knives.”

Jedediah turns his head, eyeing him gravely. He is silent for a long moment. “When ya had it done ta’ you…” Trailing off, he seems to have momentarily lost his ability to articulate. He exhales sharply through his nose, lifting his eyes. “Didja like it?”

“Yes.”

Brow crinkling, Jedediah appears unconvinced and turns his head. He has the blind stares again, absently rubbing his palms together, turning over the simple statement in his mind.

“What does the other lover get out of it?”

Octavius lifts his eyebrows. He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Thinking it over, he falters. At last, he says, “I have never performed that particular act on someone.” Jedediah looks dubious. “Roman nobility,” he says by way of explanation, and leaves it at that. “However, like in all things, I imagine there are different reasons. Finding the act pleasing itself. Feeling trusted. The power. Having your lover vulnerable before you. Finding joy in demonstrating your devotion to the one you love.”

Jedediah blinks at him.

Octavius angles his jaw, silently watching the gears turn. Jedediah’s hair vibrates minutely and it is only then he takes notice of how unkempt Jedediah is.

Jedediah’s hairstyle is typically wild. Windswept and tousled. However, keeping up with the Huns has run him ragged. The added shock of doctoring such a personal injury has given his hair a bushy sort of quality, as though zapped by lightning. Even his clothes are rumpled.

Shaking his head, Octavius clicks his tongue. He reaches over and combs the mop back over his friend's forehead, pausing a moment to enjoy the feel of the blond strands slipping between his fingers, and Jedediah’s warm breath against his palm.

Jedediah ducks his head out of reflex, but not before Octavius witnessed him close his eyes. Not before he blindly turned into the touch.

Octavius lowers his hand, observing the hair carelessly flipping up on it’s own. It isn’t perfect, but it’s better than it was.

Idly, Octavius gets up, searching for Jedediah’s comb amongst his meager belongings. It is rarely used and Octavius has to hunt for it. Finds it.

“Your hair looks even more in disarray than usual tonight,” he observes.

Jedediah is quiet, watching him. He sways slightly, blinking slowly.

Sitting back down beside him, Octavius reaches out respectfully, seeking permission.

“Would you permit me to run the comb through your hair?”

Jedediah blinks his eyes open. He peers at the comb suspiciously, gaze shifting to Octavius. “Why?”

Octavius merely shrugs. “You are unkempt. And it would please me to attend to you.”

Jedediah lets out a breath, gaze drifting back and forth between the comb and Octavius. He lifts his eyes. “You’re a strange man.”

Chuckling, Octavius cannot disagree. “I’ve been called so before.”

With a tired sigh, Jedediah angles his body so he is sitting with one leg dangling over the side of the small bed. “I suppose ya can if you want. I don’t need ya to do it, mind. But if it makes you happy…” He waves his hand, then slaps his own thigh. “Have at it.”

Octavius smiles, not expecting such easy acquiescence. Jedediah must be completely exhausted. He angles his head. “Very well.”

With slow, careful movements he twists himself so they are sitting back to front.

There is the immediate tensing of muscles through Jedediah's lean body.

Setting the comb upon the bed for a moment, Octavius carefully places his hands on the bunched up shoulders. His thumbs rub there a moment before using gentle firmness to press them down, guiding Jedediah to relax.

“You are safe with me,” he reminds. “Always.”

Jedediah startles at the words, as though he hadn’t realized he’d stiffened up. He lets out a slow breath and Octavius nods his encouragement.

His hands squeeze Jedediah’s shoulders once in reassurance, thumbs stroking idly. “There we go…”

At the first swipe of the comb, Octavius snags hold of a tangle and Jedediah bunches up his shoulders, letting out a pained little yelp. He whips around, grabbing the back of his skull, glaring in protest, but Octavius takes his head and gently swivels it forward, instructing him without words to keep his eyes front and to be still.

“This wouldn’t happen if you combed your hair more often,” he gently chastises.

“Doncha be makin’ disparaging remarks about my grooming,” Jedediah gripes. “It’s fine!”

Octavius huffs and rolls his eyes. “As you say.”

He goes back to his ministrations, keeping the motions delicate. Careful. He does not hurry. Any knots he finds he runs through with his fingers first, wanting this to be a good experience for Jedediah. Relaxing.

Before long, he’s worked out the tangles, actions taking on a repetitive rhythm. The blond hair morphs from dull and lifeless to a healthy sheen. It is gorgeous and wavy, flowing through the comb and Octavius’s fingers like silk.

Jedediah subtly begins lifting his head a little higher with each stroke of the comb, drifting.

Octavius tugs him back to recline against his chest, Jedediah’s eyes closing as he melts against him.

The careful work has gotten the hair to looking as neat as it had been during his visit to Rome. Better, in fact.

Even in the dim light of the tent, it shines.

The comb has been set aside, and Octavius catches himself daydreaming as he runs his hands through the blond locks. His fingers fan out, stroking and massaging the back of his friend’s head.

Half asleep, Jedediah makes soft sounds every now and then, in response to the careful ministrations.

Octavius tilts his head in thought.

There are other ways that he can give pleasure, and to receive it, but he cannot say this was not enjoyable.

Leaning forward, he murmurs softly in Jedediah’s ear. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Jedediah's eyes slowly open. He lifts his face as Octavius presses a kiss to his cheek before resuming the massage. Stretching his neck, Jedediah hums softly, eyes drifting shut again.

Octavius catches himself staring. It is difficult to ignore the exposed column of throat, but he restrains himself from the indulgence, concentrating solely on Jedediah’s pleasure.

Before long, Jedediah’s eyes stay closed and his body goes slack, fast asleep.

He is a pleasant weight against Octavius's armor-plated chest, and Octavius indulges for a moment, permitted to simply hold him.

After a time, he rouses with a sigh and slowly disentangles himself, guiding Jedediah down gently, and allowing his head to fall against the pillow.

The neat hair frames Jedediah’s face, practically glowing in the half light.

Uncertain how long Jedediah will lie there, Octavius let's him have the bed. He lifts Jedediah’s legs, angling them just enough so that one of them isn’t forced to remain dangling uncomfortably over the side of the mattress.

Jedediah’s long legs stretch out, the heels of his boots just hanging over the foot of it. Octavius considers removing them, but, in the end, decides against it, letting him be.

Octavius leans down and presses his lips to Jedediah’s forehead before settling down upon Jedediah’s blankets on the ground.

* * *

_And so it goes…_

* * *

_Later..._

It turns out they are surprisingly compatible tent mates and even better friends. With the exception of Octavius’s need for interior design — _make it Roman!_ — and his want for his larger bed — with Jedediah in it, of course — both of their needs prove modest. They get on rather well, and rarely fight. It does not mean that they don’t.

The first major fight had been the visitor problem. Members of Octavius’s army could be exceptionally...clingy. It wasn’t Octavius simply building his own importance up in his mind. The members of his army _are_ his children and behave as such, coming to him with problems great and small. Even though they are only one diorama away, and Octavius makes nightly treks to Rome, there would always seem to be some sort of crisis Octavius was called upon to attend to, sometimes holding conference inside Jedediah’s tent.

And Jedediah's tent can only hold so many Romans.

Tent full to bursting, Jedediah had booted the Romans out one by one, putting his foot down. When Octavius was in the tent, he was off limits. They had to solve their own problems. Octavius, while grateful, was not amused by the heavy handedness.

Which led to the next fight. Felix. The soldier would appear, as though summoned, and attend to Octavius at the beginning of the night, at the end of the night, throughout the night, and after his baths. Which fell under the numero uno policy of _No other Romans allowed in the tent_. Fight one.

Fight two came about when, hip cocked, Jedediah stuck his hands in his back pockets, and loudly proclaimed, “He can dress himself, ya know! It ain’t surgery.”

Felix’s smile instantly disappeared, replaced with the familiar emotionless mask of a servant. He lowered his hands, stepping away in respect of his liege’s consort.

This got a raised, challenging eyebrow from Octavius, because no, he could not dress himself. Dressing and removing his Roman attire was a two man job. Therefore, two men were required.

This led to Jedediah nearly damaging the armor when he attempted to jerk it on over himself to prove a point. He ended up falling over backward on the floor with a resounding _clang_ because the armor was too heavy.

It got another raised eyebrow from Octavius, simply of the more humorous variety.

Feisty, Jedediah bristled like a high-strung polecat, and shouted just as loudly.

Secretly, this fight pleased Octavius because, one: Unwarranted Jealousy. Jedediah was capable of it. And, two: Jedediah was adjusting and finally getting his verve back after the _Great Quintuple Adoption of 1983._ Octavius never took him too much to task for his overreaction for both of those reasons. However, Felix was named the exception to the rule on Jedediah’s entire tent policy.

There was the snippy fight Octavius began over Jedediah not immediately cleaning up a mess, which became an equally passionate argument over how Jedediah was always picking up after Octavius. This, in turn, circled back to their first argument over how _most_ of the Romans were not allowed in the tent to help out with the tidying up.

Their fights tended to go in a pattern. Tensions mounted and subsided like the tides of the ocean. Throughout it all, friendship remained steadfast, growing ever stronger. And the good nights far outweighed any less than stellar argument nights they could have.

They never fight over the cooking. Jedediah does it. End of story. No arguments. And Octavius will eat it, and genuinely love it. Jedediah has never gotten him back for the bad honey. He never will.

However, the recent fight proved a little different. Jedediah walked in on Octavius toweling off after a shower.

The Old West had Octavius covered in more dust than he cared for. And the American encampment is smelly. Some of the cowboys believe bathing causes illness. So when a shower had been devised by some of the more entrepreneurial women, Octavius jumped at the opportunity to be clean that didn’t involve traversing all the way over to the Roman baths before the start of the evening.

Octavius was just rubbing his hair dry, wrapped in a damp towel slung low around his hips. He still glistened. Which was the state Jedediah found him in upon entering the tent.

Jedediah’s back immediately went ramrod straight. His gloved hand flew to his eyes, and he twisted around, shouting, “Would ya warn a guy next time? God!”

Octavius had merely flicked his gaze at him.

Jedediah bounced up and down, frustrated. He exhaled loudly. “Put your tunic on, would ya please?”

The air around Octavius abruptly felt stuffy and oppressive. He had sighed and did not put his tunic on. Instead, he stepped toward Jedediah in calculated, graceful movements.

He was a very patient man when he chose to be and had behaved himself for a very long time. Always prim, always proper, always respectful. However, even Octavius’s supreme patience could wear thin.

“Darling,” he said at last, “you’ve seen it all before.”

Jedediah tensed at his words, a bundle of suppressed, manic energy, but he kept his back respectfully turned, picking abashedly at the seams in his gloves. “Yeah, well I shouldn’t’ve.”

Despite knowing the extenuating circumstances, Octavius could not help feeling stung. His lip curled in a sneer and he turned away. “Because you do not look at men?”

It was a low blow and completely uncalled for since Jedediah had never hinted at this excuse before. Some men have though, men from Octavius’s past, and he was lashing out at _them._

Octavius’s eyebrow quirked in a defiant challenge. Even if Jedediah could not see it. He was itching to lose himself in a fight, and tear into Jedediah for the slight. Jedediah had most certainly shown an appreciation toward him. And Octavius was not going to let Jedediah deny his behavior, his feelings, nor his preferences. Especially when they concerned Octavius.

Quietly, and without bluster, Jedediah whispered, “I never looked at anybody.”

The fight died unfought.

Aggression abruptly evaporating, Octavius remembered who he was with. He slumped down on his bed and did not press the issue. In this life, at least, he was not cruel in his love. So, he put his tunic on. Because Jedediah’s statement had been true. Once.

However, the very brief snippiness has become somewhat of a catalyst for more tension arising and building within the home. Jedediah broods more and Octavius gets aggravated quicker. Because Jedediah wants to look, but won’t. Like his mother, Jedediah was a paragon of virtue when he was alive. He still is. And while Octavius loves this about Jedediah, it leaves him more than a little romantically frustrated. Especially when Jedediah shouts _“We ain’t married!”_ at the top of his lungs when Octavius attempts to move them forward.

Which is why it is such a relief when Attila comes to visit them, hands behind his back, an enormous smile spread across his broad face.

“Octo! Jedo! Da-ddas!”

Speaking excitedly in his own language, he holds out Octavius’s repaired home.

* * *

_Several nights later…_

Should the powers that be take notice, the miniatures have proven their worth and their resourcefulness.

It is pandemonium in Rome, Octavius’s people are celebrating Octavius’s glorious return with much fanfare.

The crowd gives a rousing cheer, shouting welcome, and laughing with glee to have their emperor, and his house, ensconced back safely in Rome. They lift their hands and voices, applauding.

The American band has traveled over and are playing a fast and victorious melody. They dance in place and an impromptu parade begins. Americans throw confetti. Off to the side, the Mayans stare, stoic, their arms crossed at the growing mess the Romans and Americans are making.

Octavius waves and places a fist to his armor-protected heart in a Roman salute, basking in the adulation of the crowd. Paludamentum swirling, the wind even seems to be lifting him.

He turns to his friend.

Jedediah's eyes are fixed on him. He seems happy, yet restrained, wary, and perhaps a little sad at the return of the status quo to separate dioramas. A hesitant smile flickers across his mouth.

He brings his hand to his brow and gives Octavius an American salute.

Overcome, Octavius pulls him in for an affectionate embrace. Jedediah’s body is taut, skin and muscle too tight. For once, Octavius believes it has nothing to do with his issues with touch.

Somberly, and with a gentle, intense focus, Octavius leans forward and presses his lips to the side of Jedediah’s temple, below the brim of his hat.

Jedediah stands very still at first. Then something seems to snap inside him. He exhales softly at the kiss. His eyelids flutter. Closing his eyes, his body relaxes and he settles into the embrace.

They stand together, gazing down at the fanfare, pressing so close, they look more like a power couple celebrating their engagement rather than close friends preparing for separation.

The separation is merely one diorama over and only during the length of the day, but Octavius feels as though his heart is being ripped apart, realizing he doesn’t want to go. Only he has no excuse not to.

He lifts his chin against his rising emotions. Unbeknownst to Jedediah, he plans on leaving the one-person bed with him. It is a gift and a thank you for his friendship, his care, generosity of spirit, and his hospitality. There is no need for Jedediah to continue sleeping on the ground.

Attila reaches into the diorama and proudly displays the house, holding it aloft while his brothers cheer his success. Doc and Ringo are completely drunk, tucked in one of the Hun’s hats. Jostled, they each smack their lips and rouse. They applaud slowly because everyone around them is applauding.

Baby leans her massive head forward. She sniffs the repaired home. Both she and Octavius each catch movement from one of the windows.

Octavius stops waving, stops smiling, jaw dropping.

It is the theatre scene from the Room of Masks. It is alive. The strange creatures adorning the walls are dancing. The ghoulish, nightmare images of men with death’s head grins and piercing, inhuman eyes sit in their booths cackling wildly.

Baby springs into action.

She butts Octavius’s house out of Attila’s hand with her snout. The creatures in the macabre room all scream as her enormous clawed foot lifts and smashes down on the house in one gargantuan stomp.

The floor shakes. The world tilts. All is silent.

The Huns and the miniatures freeze, a mouthful of frozen cheers on their lips.

Jedediah gasps beside Octavius. He reaches over and clutches Octavius’s arm. Even through the layers of clothing separating their skin, the touch feels like a jolt of electricity. Jedediah’s eyes are enormous. Then he clutches at his own chest as though he’s having a heart attack. He twitches, the tips of his hair vibrating.

_“Baby!”_

She tilts her head to the side, and lifts her clawed foot, assessing the situation. When all is quiet from Octavius’s house, she lifts her head.

Eyeless sockets sweep across the Roman diorama, she sneezes as though to say she’s got this and has taken care of _the_ _bad things, papa_.

Attila stares, wide-eyed beside his equally silent brethren. He opens his mouth and squeaks.

Very clearly a daddy’s girl in this moment, Baby preens. She lifts her snout as though she, alone, has saved the world. She opens her vast jaws in a roar of absolute triumph.

Ears flattened, Sweet Pea swishes her tail, annoyed. Beside her, Assassin sniffs at the ground. He tilts his head.

Jedediah is still clutching his chest, rapidly breathing in and out through his nose. He points his gloved index finger and stomps. “Bad girl!”

Baby cocks her head, her eternally happy grin on full display. She coos softly.

Jedediah bounces up and down, making screaming noises in the back of his throat in the beginnings of a conniption.

Baby wags her tail.

Continuing to point, Jedediah shouts, “Nose to the wall, young lady!”

The dinosaur stops wagging, her tail pointing straight out.

Attila bends down and picks up the smashed remains of Octavius’s house. It dangles limply between his forefinger and thumb. He lifts his head and bellows at his big sister. _“Pron-to!”_

The other Huns gather around him, slapping his shoulders in an attempt to offer comfort. His mouth twists, baring his teeth at them all the way to the gums. He pushes them roughly back.

Without his gaze leaving Baby’s, Jedediah shouts out of the side of his mouth at Attila, parenting him. “Hey, hey, hey! Settle down!”

Octavius feels a slow burn rising. He isn’t certain if it’s manic glee at being “forced” to remain with Jedediah for a little while longer or the shock of his Room of Masks coming to life and then being destroyed.

Either way, bubbles begin bursting in his chest. He rocks back and forth on his heels, feeling feather light, wanting nothing more than to grip Jedediah by the back of the neck, lean him back, fling his Stetson, and plant one on him.

Baby looks from one parent to the other. Octavius beams at Jedediah, then suppresses his glee. Eyes still gleaming, he nods somberly at their daughter. He decides to treat her later. Now, he points along with Jedediah to the far wall.

They stand together, a powerfully unified master parenting force.

The dinosaur sneezes again, skull shaking mightily. Then, she goes. She looks smug, having decided the punishment is well worth the crime.

* * *

_Weeks later..._

The near separation seems to have snapped them out of their peevishness.

Jedediah seems less moody, grateful for the company and Octavius is back to being Miss Polly Sunshine.

The hellbeast’s pregnancy seems to be progressing very slowly.

Typically, equine gestation lasts for up to a year, around three hundred days. Sweet Pea’s progress seems to have come to a standstill. However, after a quick examination of her development, Jedediah does not seem particularly concerned. They do only live half-lives, and only at night.

Sweet Pea is livid. She stomps her hooves.

Hands on his waist, Jedediah rolls his head. “Well, ya shoulda thought of that before you up and gone and did whatcha did!”

Her ears flatten and she flounces off.

* * *

_Months later…_

It is a public holiday celebrated in the middle of December. A three day affair, it is a time for feasting, goodwill toward men, charity to the poor, role reversals between servants and masters, the exchange of gifts, and the decoration of trees. This is Saturnalia, the Roman winter solstice festival honoring Saturn, the god of agriculture.

It also appears to be what Jedediah calls Christmas.

The miniatures do not have a calendar, but they improvise. They watch the comings and goings outside their diorama. There are strewn garlands everywhere. They decorate the atrocious bench. They hang from the walls. Some of the larger beings use them to accentuate and express themselves, slinging them around their necks. They look fabulous!

The Americans hang homemade decorations on fence posts, saloon doors, and the iron horse because they have no trees.

The horrible western power ballads are replaced with Christmas carols, which is where much of Octavius’s education of Christmas comes from since Jedediah is being secretive about the whole affair.

In the guise of visiting his windchimes, Octavius receives further education on Christmas from Cordelia, the madam of the town brothel.

Nonchalantly, as though his curiosity means nothing, he faces away from her and tinks softly at the windchimes, asking questions. She answers, fanning herself and rocking in her chair.

With a small, worn Bible on her lap, she turns the delicate pages and reads to him, filling in the blanks along the way.

He hears the story of Christmas, surprised he played a minor role. He vaguely recalls issuing a decree of a census be taken of all the Roman world, for tax purposes and to gauge the rising birth rates. As such, Mary and Joseph traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem to be counted and registered in Joseph’s origin city, as Joseph descended from the House of David.

It is all very miraculous. A good story with a tragic ending, which, sadly, the Romans played a part in as well. However, it is immediately followed by a new story, with a new beginning, full of hope.

Feeling a little superior, Octavius sniffs. He believes the western world stole all of Rome’s best moves when choosing traditions to celebrate this holiday.

He listens to the carolers and breathes a sigh of relief. Their music is so much better. Almost tolerable.

Deliberating upon Jedediah’s Saturnalia/Christmas gift, he formulates a plan.

* * *

_Later..._

After careful consideration, Octavius pulls Felix aside. He needs a catapult.

“I need a catapult.”

Felix lifts his eyebrows. “Whatever for?” He pauses, thinks about it, then gasps, face lighting up. He bounces excitedly on the balls of his feet. He claps his hands. “Have you and your consort had an irreconcilable disagreement, my liege? Are we at war again?”

Octavius frowns. Taken aback, he eyes the young man strangely. “Not as such.”

Felix’s face falls. He ducks his head. “Oh.”

Octavius cranes his neck, confused, willing Felix to elaborate on his presumption. Despite the one jealous slip Jedediah had with him early on with the tent arrangements, Octavius assumed the pair got on rather well.

He questions Felix.

Felix looks up through his lashes and vibrates with pent up anger. He growls his explanation. One word. _“Bill..."_

Octavius blinks. It is then he notices Felix’s tousled black mop. The hair has grown out again. His mouth thins. “How many helmets has he stolen?”

Felix flicks a defiant gaze, which is unlike him. He folds his arms over his chest. “You mean recently?”

Octavius nods.

Baring his teeth, Felix grounds out, _“Five.”_

Sighing a fatherly sigh, Octavius wraps his arm around Felix’s shoulder. He begins walking with the young man.

“There, there. There will be other helmets,” he consoles. His palm lifts in the direction of a brighter future. “Finer, grander helmets. A finer consort if you so choose.”

Felix vibrates against him, bouncing, making screaming noises in the back of his throat.

And just as quickly he sniffs, eyes glistening as he tentatively leans his head on Octavius’s shoulder. His arms come up to wrap around Octavius’s side as they walk, seeking comfort. “Father...”

Octavius’s mouth lifts at the corners, musing. He finds the edge of his paludamentum and wraps it, and his arm around Felix.

If it were humanly possible, he might’ve somehow believed Felix was he and Jedediah’s biological child.

* * *

_Later…_

The falling out must be serious.

While working on the specifications for the catapult, Felix keeps making crude little stick figure drawings of a tiny man with an oversized Roman helmet, appropriately named: _Bill._

Felix goes along x’ing out each stick figure, the next X more destructive than the last. He writes _Operation: Kill Bill_ on the top right hand corner of the parchment. The last X is repeated over and over as he works, his writing instrument pressed down hard. It makes minor grooves in his work station.

Bouncing on his sandaled toes, Felix pulls away from his work. He steeples his hands, wiggling his fingers diabolically.

Observing with one knuckle propped under his chin, Octavius arches an eyebrow. “Child,” he says patiently, then sighs. He folds his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “You need a hobby.”

Felix tips back his helmetless head and laughs.

* * *

_Later…_

Since Octavius does not wish to use his own trees in the making of the catapult — he has plans — he asks for volunteers to scout the museum and bring back the necessary supplies.

Tiberius and Marcus, along with several of the others step forward. Not knowing what is going on — they never do — Doc and Ringo step to the forefront.

They stand, hips cocked, their hands to their belts. As the Romans assemble for the task, the twins each swing their Stetsons.

“I’m your huckleberry!” shouts Doc. “Yeeee-haaaw!”

Ringo jumps up and down, he turns to his brother. “What are we doing?”

“I have no idea, ya tangle-footed, baldheaded, ornery ol’ pervert!”

Ringo lifts his fist. “Whoo-whee!”

And that’s really all it takes.

Then, Ringo pauses a moment. Thinks over the insults, categorizing them one by one. He frowns.

“Hey, wait a damn minute! I got hair!” he protests, and lifts his Stetson off the top of his head. He points to his full head of dark hair. “See?”

The Romans sigh, smacking their hands over their eyes in embarrassment. Thankfully, the next in line to power is a gigantic, dinosaur and the twins will likely never reach emperorhood should something happen to Octavius.

Octavius blinks. “Well. Now that we’ve settled that scintillating intellectual debate…” He crosses his arms. “Let's move along, shall we?”

He pulls Tiberius and Marcus aside. He peers at them both sternly. “This is an important leadership opportunity for you both since your betrothal and subsequent marriage. Should there be danger, I can trust with absolute certainty that you will look after, not only each other, but _all_ members of your company, correct?”

The pair bow their heads and salute. “My liege!”

Octavius nods, clapping them both on the shoulder. “Good men.”

* * *

_Several nights later..._

When the miniatures return from their mission, they are a little worse for wear, but all accounted for.

They pull a makeshift contraption with all their supplies behind them.

Climbing down from the Roman diorama, Octavius greets them all with praise and a salute.

Tiberius wails and thrusts himself forward. Octavius rocks back on his heels from the impact. Arms come around his waist. Tiberius is soaked to the skin.

“Why are you hugging me?” Octavius asks. Then he sniffs. “And what is that _smell?”_

Marcus pulls away from the group. He salutes and lifts his chin. “A monkey, my liege. It…” He grimaces. “It urinated on him.”

Octavius stiffens, eyes narrowing. “Dexter…”

It takes everything in him as a true, manly Roman — and the leader of his people — not to pull himself free and hop about, flinging his arms in disgust. He stands, stoic, arms clasped tightly behind his back waiting for Tiberius to get a hold of himself.

Tears stream down Tiberius’s cheeks; the man gibbers wildy. His arms flail one at a time — never fully losing contact with Octavius — while he regales him in stunted sentences about the entire sordid affair.

Delicately, Octavius claps Tiberius on the shoulder. He attempts not to breathe. Back straight and regal, he calmly replies, “There, there.”

He arches his eyebrow at the twins. They swagger over, fists deep in their pockets. “Tell your father I’m going to be late coming home. I’m stopping by the baths tonight.” Out of the side of his mouth, he adds, “And jumping in. In full regalia.”

* * *

_Later…_

Christmas comes a few nights after Saturnalia which passes by unannounced by Octavius. Jedediah is still being secretive, but that’s alright. Octavius has a few secrets of his own.

While Jedediah was out, Octavius has booby-trapped the entire tent with some sprigs of mistletoe Baby found and crushed between her grinding jaws.

In Octavius’s time, enemies at war would reconcile their differences under the mistletoe as it represented peace. Romans decorated their homes with it in order to please the gods. However, Cordelia let slip some interesting little tidbits in regards to mistletoe’s use in the Old West.

She gave him a conspiratorial grin, so it probably wasn’t that much of a slip if he were honest.

When Jedediah enters the tent with a wrapped gift in his hand, his jaw drops. The gift lands at his boots. Eyes comically wide, he whips around, gaze darting to every corner of the tent, taking in their booby-trapped home. “Oh, Lordy…” he breathes.

Octavius bounces on his sandaled toes. He spreads his arms wide. “Darling! You’re home!”

Jedediah points around at the mistletoe accusingly. “That's for kissin’!”

Octavius tilts his head to the side, eyes gleaming. He twists from side to side, grinning innocently. With his most sultry pout, he lifts an eyebrow. “Oh?” His voice dips down low. “Really?”

Octavius explains the Roman uses for mistletoe. Jedediah does not believe him. It is of little matter.

“Come.” Octavius spreads his arms again. “Sit.”

Jedediah peers suspiciously up at the ceiling. And does a double-take. There is more mistletoe dangling overhead. “Dagnabit!”

Octavius cannot help but chuckle warmly. Jedediah’s reaction is a treasure. “We have kissed before,” he reminds.

“It was a fluke. I was lit up like the dad-gum Fourth of July!”

“You survived. And you kissed me even before our courtship night in Rome, if you recall.” Octavius points to the floor. “Now, sit.”

Jedediah plops himself down hard, removing his Stetson.

“My dear one,” Octavius says, smiling sweetly at Jedediah. “I do believe you’re pouting.”

Jedediah flaps his hand. “Yeah, yeah.” Cornered, he points to his mouth. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Undeterred, Octavius merely quirks an eyebrow and grins. “Now where’s the fun in that?” He hitches up his angel toga in order to sit down. It is worn specifically for Jedediah. “The spontaneity?” He wraps his arms loosely around his beloved’s neck. “Where’s the romance?”

Jedediah’s lips thin. “There ain’t no romance. The last time there was romance, we got ourselves strapped with five extra rowdy, gargantuan-sized anklebiters. And I just got ‘em calmed down!”

The skin around Octavius’s eyes crinkle, and he laughs because it’s true. He also knows Jedediah is being petulant just to be petulant. His gaze is warm and very, very interested.

Jedediah blushes and loosens his shirt collar.

Octavius’s eyes flick to the wrapped present. Jedediah follows his gaze. He clears his throat. Taking off his gloves, he wipes his palms on his knees. “I suppose I oughta tell ya all about Christmas now.”

Brow arching, and despite his proactiveness regarding his own education, Octavius untangles himself from Jedediah.

He sits back and listens while his friend explains Christmas. Watches him lose his bashfulness and become animated, lighting up with the retelling, his hands communicating just as much as with his mouth. Listens while Jedediah excitedly speeds up when talking his way through the good parts.

Jedediah expands beyond his religion to speak of fond memories with his family and of Saint Nicholas, a man who gave away all of his inherited wealth and traveled the countryside helping the poor and the sick, and who later died and became immortal, becoming Sinter Klaas, a jolly, dimpled old elf, dressed to the nines in the brown furs of a trapper. He distributed gifts to little boys and girls.  

It is all very fanciful, but Octavius takes it all in, enthralled despite himself, always pleased to see Jedediah so happy and energetic. And he loves hearing Jedediah’s stories.

At the end of the history lesson, Jedediah toes the wrapped present with his boot. Picking it up, he ducks his head, and thrusts the gift forward. “Here.”

Octavius takes it delicately, admiring the wrapping held together with twine. “Thank you.” Teasing, he shakes the box. There is no telltale rattle.

“I know it ain’t much, but well…” Jedediah rubs the back of his neck, then shrugs his shoulders. Slumping a little, he exhales. “I wanted you to know that you mean a lot and that I was thinkin’ about ya.”

Octavius cannot express his excitement. He rips into the paper and opens the box to reveal a bright yellow cloth. Then, he stills. Confused, he lifts the long cloth from the box and stares at it. He tilts his head in inquiry.

Jedediah scoots closer. “See, it’s for when you’re wearin’ your armor.”

Flustered at Octavius’s flummoxed expression, Jedediah takes the yellow material from Octavius’s hand and very slowly rises to his knees. “It will go under your highfalutin tin can.” With infinite care, he wraps it around Octavius’s neck, placing it over his shoulders and down past his throat, just so. “There.”

He pats Octavius’s chest once, and then startles. He rests his palm against Octavius’s chest, hand over his heart. His gaze flickers, and he lets out a shuddering breath, struggling to keep his exhalations even.

Octavius squints, knowing Jedediah has become enthralled by his heartbeat. He hardly breathes.

“It’s ta’ put under your armor so’ins your neck don’t chafe,” Jedediah finishes absently.

Octavius looks at him, gaze full of love. The gift is simple, quiet, and practical. Just like Jedediah.

“I adore it.”

His eyes drift shut, and he leans his forehead until it presses against Jedediah's. They bump noses.

After an indeterminate time, Octavius straightens and lifts his hand and skims his fingers lightly along Jedediah's neck, under his ear.

The gestures were unplanned, not part of his intricate seduction plot — which, quite frankly, he’s forgotten. Instead, he watches, mesmerized when Jedediah leans into his touch. His eyes are closed.

“I will cherish your gift and keep it close to my heart,” he says in a low murmur. “Always.”

Looking into Octavius’s eyes, Jedediah quietly says, “Merry Christmas, Ockie.”

His gaze is warm.

Bashful and nervous once more, he pulls back, then lowers his head and begins toying with a loose thread on his blanket. He pauses, an afterthought striking him.

Lifting his head, his eyes grow comically wide, darting back to all the mistletoe. Octavius and Baby really have gone overboard and they have transformed the tent into a mistletoe booby-trap of epic proportions.

Octavius grins, humor lighting up his gaze. He laughs. Then, he leans forward and captures Jedediah’s lips.

Their mouths fit together, and Jedediah makes a sound, a soft throaty hum.

Glimpsed in his peripheral vision, Octavius catches Jedediah’s palms attempt to lift and frame his face, but then the action is aborted. The hands drop.

Octavius can feel Jedediah’s frustration with himself mount by the tensing of his muscles.

Before Jedediah can overthink and pull free, Octavius cups the back of Jedediah’s head, fingers clenched in his hair, and lowers him down gently against his pillow.

For once, Jedediah goes without protest. They are still kissing when there is shouting coming from outside.

Breaking the kiss, Jedediah pushes at Octavius’s chest and shouts, “What in the Sam Hill?”

They sit up.

“I have a gift for you,” Octavius says. “I wanted to let you know how important you were and that I was thinking of you, also.”

Jedediah scrambles from the tent, Octavius behind him. Striding purposely toward the diorama’s edge, Jedediah peers down.

The Roman army is assembled, catapult at the ready. Attached to the catapult is an uprooted apple tree.

Felix salutes them, along with Tiberius, Marcus, Lucius, Titus, Maximus, and the rest of the Roman army.  The twins are down there, too, because they are drunk and don’t know any better.

The catapult is swiftly prepared.

Spying Bill peering down at them, Felix curls his lip and pushes with all his might, training the weapon in his betrothed’s direction.

With a gleam in his eyes, Octavius lifts his head grandly. Raising his voice to be heard, he commands, “Prepare the catapults!”

Eyes wide, Jedediah lifts his palms placatingly. “Wait! Octavius, hold on.”

Octavius peers down at his army. They salute him once more, awaiting his signal.

Jedediah stares down at the catapult in confusion. His gaze travels to Octavius in horror. “Baby, what’s got into you?” He whips his head over toward Bill, then down at the bouncing, manically cackling Felix. Thinking fast, he whirls. “Octy, don't you do it,” he warns.

Octavius grins wickedly, one eyebrow raised.

“Snap out of it!” Jedediah smacks him so hard he rocks back, stumbling into an American standing directly behind him. “Octavius!”

Octavius rights himself, straightening his toga. He does not hit back. “Merry Christmas, my love.” To his army, he determinedly gives the command to release the arm of the catapult.

Jedediah and company — _Bill included_ — all scramble for cover, some screaming, ducking out of the way as the bucket releases its payload and the apple tree is flung up into the Old West.

It lands with a hard _thwack_ , and the rasp of fertile, black soil crumbling down onto hard American, sunscorched dirt _._

The Romans cheer in triumph, slapping Felix’s shoulders, jumping up and down.

“Still alive, William?” Felix queries.

Bill rises slowly and shakes the dust and dirt off his breeches. “Um, yeah?”

Felix grins darkly, and the Romans load the next tree. They fire.

Octavius lifts his chin, eyes gleaming with mischief. Feet spread widely apart, he stands with his arms akimbo.

He honors Roman tradition, he honors Christmas, and he honors the god of seed and sowing with his gift to his nature-loving companion.

With a sniff of feigned disgust, he lifts his voice to be heard above the cacophony. “Plant some trees, love. Your land is barren.”

Still on all fours, along with the rest of the Americans, Jedediah whips his head. He peers up at Octavius, and blinks. His mouth hangs open in shock.

Then he goes very still.

As Octavius’s intentions begin to dawn, his face transitions through a whirring spectrum of emotions. He breathes too hard, then too fast, and his eyes begin to fill.

Gloriously happy, he smiles through his tears.

* * *

_Time passes…_

Octavius is attempting to teach Jedediah to dance. It is proving rather difficult as Octavius doesn’t have the faintest clue what he’s doing either. It is very similar in nature to the blind leading the visually challenged, but he’s been watching the other miniatures and learning their movements during various celebrations. Of course, observing isn’t the same as doing.

He remains determined.

Singlehandedly, he’s scooted their small table and chairs over to the far corner of the room to give them more space to practice. He’s even bundled up his friend’s blankets from off the floor, folded them, and placed them neatly on his own bed.

Unfortunately, Jedediah is being most irksome about the entire affair. He's been moody and cranky all night.

He stands in the middle of the room, his arms folded and hip cocked, while Octavius sways back and forth to silent music.

Leaning forward, he whisper-shouts, “You’re embarrassing me!”

Octavius opens his eyes, but doesn’t stop swaying. His hands glide. Fingers splay, parting the air. “It is only us.”

Jedediah lifts one shoulder. “Yeah, but ya never know who’s gonna come waltzing through the door.”

Flapping his hand, Octavius drops his arm. His back straightens. No one ever simply waltzes in. He lifts his chin, and grouses, “That's _their_ problem.”

He arches an eyebrow in challenge. It shuts Jedediah up.

Satisfied, Octavius closes his eyes.

They have retired for the evening and he has opted for a combination angel toga and tunic, along with his paludamentum. He had Felix stop by and help dress him. Jedediah wasn’t thrilled over that either.

Octavius twirls on naked feet, paludamentum and toga billowing out behind, then drifting forward to tickle the backs of his calves and ankles with each minute step.

While Octavius turns his nose up at square dancing, or anything with _hootenanny_ in the title, he’s recently caught glimpses of several of the more upper crust Americans performing something called a waltz.

His movements mirror memory. He imagines drawing boxes with each glide, holding an invisible partner out, but still within arm’s reach.

Half turning in a box-like step, he drifts back, and begins anew.   

“One-two-three, one-two-three….Da, da, da, da, dum, da, da, da, da-da, da-da, dum…”

Gliding forward, Octavius’s finger splay. He sweeps across the room and grips Jedediah by the forearms.

“Come. Dance with me.”

Exasperated, Jedediah swats him, and rolls his head. “I can’t dance!”

“Try...”

With that, Octavius abruptly pulls him forward, intending to sweep him into his arms.

Jedediah stumbles into him, accidentally stomping down on his foot with the sharp-edged heel of his boot.

Octavius lets out a pained yowl, letting Jedediah go. He grips his bare foot, hopping up and down. “My love!”

Eyes wide, Jedediah peers down as though he’d forgotten Octavius wasn’t wearing his sandals. He colors, gawks, covering his mouth with his hands. “Ah, geeze, Oct!” He appears mortified. “Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

Lips peeling back in a grimace, Octavius continues hopping up and down.

The man must weigh a ton, putting his entire weight into that stomp.

Losing his temper, he accuses, “You did that on purpose.”

Jedediah holds his hands up, palms out. “No, I didn’t. Honest ta’ God—!”

“You’ve scoffed and complained. All evening. Voicing your negative opinions. Flouting your disapproval while I’ve been rocking back and forth like some mystic, spirit-ridden savage, making a monumental fool out of myself.” Octavius balls his hands into fists. He points his index finger. “And I’ve done it all for you!”

“Ah, come on!” Jedediah rolls his head. “Do ya see me laughing? And it ain’t like I asked you to. You did this all on your own.”

Octavius lifts his chin. “You wished to dance.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Octavius’s eyelids flutter as he rolls his eyes. It might be the beginnings of a nervous tic. Or, an aneurysm.

“Semantics, Jedediah,” he says, exasperated. “Yes, you did.” He points before Jedediah can open his mouth. “In your own way, you did. Do not deny it. And the first thing you do is hobble me!”

“Stop being so melodramatic, ya big baby. I tripped. Ain’t like I’ve cooked up some —” he lifts his arms, waves them “— some sneaky, shifty-eyed, trickster scheme to cripple you or make ya look dumb.” Octavius bares his teeth, and Jedediah points back. “You knew from the get-go I couldn’t dance. I got two left feet!”

“You’ve left me with _none!”_

Bouncing up and down, Octavius shakes off the colossal pain in his foot and pounces.

* * *

_Only slightly later…_

Because they are _men,_ they get into a shoving match, that turns into a wrestling match. They roll over and over each other, spilling out of the tent and into the bright artificial light of the diorama.

“Learn to pick up your feet, you buffoon!” Octavius bellows.

“Why, I oughta —!” Jedediah shouts back. “Doncha go blamin’ me, boy howdy! I warned ya I couldn’t dance!”

They land, screaming, bodies rolling on the ground in a heap.

Octavius’s toga nearly comes undone in the scuffle. His simple tunic and paludamentum saves his modesty, the latter twisting and flapping up and over both of their heads.

Their roll is halted against a booted foot.

Octavius and Jedediah untangle themselves slightly, enough so Octavius can whip his paludamentum out of their faces.

Distributing their weight on their elbows, they both peer up with a squint.

An older, white-haired gentleman in a long, black linen duster coat and red waistcoat stares down at them. His trademark bowler has been traded for a shiny, black stovepipe hat. It is Black Bart, gentleman bandit. Born in Norfolk, England. He carries no weapons. Like Jedediah, he never curses, except when penning dirty limericks about Calamity Jane on the side of the iron horse.

“Oh, hello,” Octavius says, gulping for breath.

It is followed up by a slight wave and a _“Howdy-howdy!”_ from Jedediah.

Octavius and Jedediah greet the man with innocent, nonchalant smiles, as though their fight meant nothing and was as natural as breathing.

Octavius pinches Jedediah; Jedediah growls and swats him with both hands, rapid fire, making screaming noises in the back of his throat.

“Evening, gentlemen!” Black Bart puffs out his chest in self-importance and grips the front of his duster. “Burning the midnight oil, aren’t we, fellas?”

Octavius waves his hand in a vague motion. “Oh, well. You know...” His toga begins slipping down his shoulder; he hastily grabs it and pushes it back up.

Black Bart, also known as, Charles Earl Bowles, has an odd, jumbled accent of southern fried gentleman and sophisticated, British outlaw.

He hitches up his trousers and squats down, spry for an old man. His magnificently curled handlebar mustache bounces up and down as he speaks. “I, say! How goes the cohabitation experiment?”

Jedediah shrugs his shoulders. In a pure, non ironic tone, he says, “Fine, I reckon.”

Octavius raises his hand to his breast. It is half grand gesture and half Roman salute. He lifts his head and his voice. “I have no complaints.”

Octavius elbows Jedediah hard in the ribs; Jedediah snarls and kicks Octavius in the shins.

Black Bart nods. “Good to hear, good to hear.” He tips his hat. “A rollicking success, I imagine!” He looks over and spies Jane’s Stetson moving over top of one of the tents. His face instantly lights up. He abruptly stands, hand to his breast. Then he brushes dust from the tops of his boots and straightens his paisley ascot. “I apologize for cutting this conversation short, gentleman. But I must be off, I declare. Cupid’s arrow strikes when you least expect it. Carry on, sirs.”

“We will!” they both shout at his back.

They peer at each other, faces softening. An instant later, their lips peel back from their teeth and they are rolling away, fight resumed.

Dust flies as they roll over each other.

“Clumsy oaf!”

“Well. That’s whatcha get! Ya shouldn’t’ve been so dang grabby!”

They roll their way back into the tent, and then —  

By unspoken mutual agreement, the battle shifts. They lunge and collide. Their faces are cupped in each other’s palms, lips molding into the curves of the other’s mouth, pouring all the tension of their fight into the kiss.

Legs are in motion, sliding over hips, curling around calves.

Their hands move fast, tangling in one another’s hair, touching, caressing, through and under clothing.

Tongues sweep across lips. Hungry, desperate. The kisses come hard, fast, almost painful. They pull away with a breathless, smacking sound. Mouths meet once more. Brushing, sucking, nipping, biting.

Feeling a hardness pressed at his hip, Octavius catches Jedediah’s wrists and rolls on top of Jedediah, mounting and pinning him.

“Ah!” Jedediah yelps, eyes wide in shock. Feral, he bucks, scrambles. He screws his eyes shut and strains.

Octavius will not be thrown.

He nips at Jedediah’s lower lip. Down his chin. He leaves a trail of burning kisses from his jaw to below his ear, mouthing over his Adam’s Apple, the ragged little halting gasps Jedediah makes arousing him. His mouth continues its journey, sweet, but ruthless, focusing with single-minded attention on the hollow of Jedediah’s throat.

Jedediah whimpers at the attention, closing his eyes and shivering at the sensation of Octavius's breath ghosting over his skin. He yields, arching into the contact.

Tamed at last, the strength leaves him.

Head falling back, breath faltering, he gives his throat. He tilts his pelvis slightly, knees bending in readiness, slowly coming up to bracket Octavius's hips.

_“Oct...”_

He lies there, looking up at Octavius, his chest rising and falling, catching his breath.

The total submission shoots straight to Octavius’s groin. Cock hardening, he presses against Jedediah, wanting to get even closer, allowing him to feel Octavius’s undeniable want for him. His need.

Jedediah jolts as though receiving an electric charge. He twists his body. In one fluid motion, Octavius finds himself flipped on his back. Then, straddled.

Octavius scrambles until he’s sitting up, propped on his elbows.

Their gazes lock. The only sound in the tent is their hurried breathing.

Jedediah raises back.

Their gazes remain fixed.

Palms press flat against Octavius’s chest as Jedediah begins to move against him slowly, experimentally at first.

Octavius grips Jedediah by the hips, pulling him closer, adjusting their positions only slightly, aligning them properly. He hears the startled gasp Jedediah makes at the repositioning. Tilting back, Octavius picks up the rhythm, rocks with him, meeting him movement for movement.

Their pace quickens.

Breaths coming in short, ragged pants, they press close and grind, rutting mindlessly, attempting to mate the other through their clothing. Until —  

A gloved hand grips Octavius’s hair as Jedediah's hips suddenly stutter, a shuddering moan escaping his throat.

Octavius never knows quite what hits him. It may have been one of Jedediah’s sticks of dynamite.

Afterward, both spent, they lay sprawled on the ground, panting and staring open-mouthed at the ceiling.

They never got their clothes off.

Octavius lifts his head and locates Jedediah’s hand, wrapping his index finger around Jedediah’s pinky. Feels it flex.

A moment later, Jedediah’s hand captures his, gripping it almost painfully tight, hanging on for dear life.

Two things are certain.

One, Octavius is going to have to fathom out a way to get that ring on Jedediah’s finger. And two, given the proper stimuli, Jedediah can most assuredly dance.

* * *

_Later the next night..._

They are going to need a bigger bed.

“We ain’t gettin’ a bigger bed!” Jedediah flaps his hand.

He is wearing his pinstriped trousers. They have both cleaned themselves up, but the leather breeches are currently indisposed and need attended to. “It was a fluke, I tell ya. A fluke.”

Octavius rolls his eyes. He stretches his arms out, waiting for Jedediah to turn around and attend him. Getting dressed is a two man job and Felix is nowhere in sight. He clears his throat. “Dearest.”

Jedediah whirls, his back ramrod straight. He appears spooked. _“What!”_

Octavius lifts both his eyebrows. His gaze flicks down. “The armor.”

Jedediah startles. “Oh! Right.” He clatters, _clangs_ and bangs around with the attire, completely inept. He jerks up and down at the metal, rocking Octavius back on his heels in the process.

Jostled, Octavius keeps his eyes forward. His face a mask of stoicism; he misses Felix already. He allows his eyes to flick toward Jedediah. “This was _not_ a fluke.”

Jedediah deflates. He rubs at his forehead. “I know.” His eyes flicker with indecision for a moment and he goes back to pacing. “It’s just.” He stops and spreads his arms wide. “We ain’t married!”

Octavius speaks slowly, clearly. His gaze is penetrating as he enunciates. “The solution is absurdly simple. Marry me, and you won’t have this problem.”

Jedediah flaps his hand again. “You’re just sayin’ that ta’ get me in the sack.”

Nodding, Octavius cannot disagree. “Yes!”

Immediate annoyance flits across Jedediah’s face. “We ain’t getting a bigger bed.” His eyes dart. Becoming bashful, he whispers, _“People will know.”_

“So? They already know I wish to do all manner of nasty things to you. They may even applaud. Results will be tallied and bets will be won. Our children will rejoice.”

“We ain’t getting a bigger bed!” Jedediah points down at the ground. “I’m sleepin’ on the floor.”

His beloved is the most stubborn man Octavius has ever met. He purses his lips, thinking long and hard about this. Perhaps if he employs mind powers. He is partially divine, after all. His family line _did_ descend from Venus. “Jedediah?”

Dutifully, Jedediah freezes in his tracks. He whirls, and Octavius lifts his head grandly.

He arches a seductive brow, eyes gleaming. His voice dips into a low, smoky, and persuasive register. Power thrums in his words.

“I’m not wearing _any_ undergarments.”

* * *

_Later…_

So, the ploy for a larger bed did not work, but at least when Octavius turns to leave and attend to his duties in Rome he hears Jedediah clear his throat.

Hand pressed against the tent flap, Octavius glances back. His eyebrows raise. “Yes, darling?”

Tapping his foot, Jedediah has his arms crossed. Dropping them, mouth compressing into a thin line, he swallows deeply, and hooks his fingers in his back pockets.

He points to his lips, expression one of shy hopefulness.

Adorable.

With a smug, upturned lift of his mouth, Octavius hums. He turns to leave. “Use your words, love.”

Octavius chuckles when he is grabbed and thrown over Jedediah’s shoulder caveman-style. He kicks his legs for show, but he is an entirely willing partner in whatever shenanigans Jedediah wishes to get up to.

Jedediah flops him on the floor. Octavius pops up. He attempts to crawl free, body weakened by laughter. “‘Diah, really! I must return to Rome. I have duties.”

Hearing a playful growl behind him, he digs his fingers into the dirt. He leaves jagged claw marks on the ground as he is dragged back by the hips, flipped, and kissed within an inch of his life.

Octavius breaks the kiss, chest heaving. He attempts to catch his breath. His eyes dance.

Jedediah bumps the tip of his nose against Octavius’s. Pulling back, his eyes are bright. He still hasn't used his words.

Octavius lifts his hand to cup Jedediah’s face, and is rewarded when Jedediah closes his eyes and breathes softly, leaning into the touch.

It has been decided, the victory readily conceded.

“I suppose Rome will have to wait,” Octavius murmurs. “It might even need to run itself tonight.”

Jedediah gives him the most beatific smile Octavius has ever seen from him.

Pulling him forward, Octavius kisses him back, long and slow and sweet. Precisely as his beloved should be kissed. He feels Jedediah shiver as fingers ghost over ribs, the rippling of muscle under his shirt.

Before he knows it, Jedediah is gripping his hips and pulling Octavius into his lap.

Octavius goes willingly, wrapping his arms around Jedediah’s neck. They touch noses. He’s close enough to feel Jedediah's warm breath against his lips.

Jedediah shifts, then pauses. Abruptly, he hardens. He draws in a little gasp, inhaling sharply, his erection digging into Octavius’s thigh. His eyes widen and his cheeks pale as though he hadn’t meant for that to happen, embarrassed by his own anatomy’s betrayal of him. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters.

Shaking his head, Octavius says, “I’m not.”

Jedediah’s mouth compresses in a hard line. Octavius waits for him to say _No._ That he can’t. Jedediah’s eyes betray him.

“Sshhh…” Octavius says, embracing him, holding him steady. “Sweetheart, it’s alright.”

Jedediah bites his lip. His eyes clench closed, then spring open. He lowers his head, embrace tightening. His hair vibrates.

Octavius sweeps Jedediah’s hair back, then uses his fingers to lift Jedediah’s chin. He wishes to look him in the eyes.

Jedediah blinks at him, his expression completely unguarded. His breathing is coming a little too fast, watching Octavius, assessing him with a worried gaze over his own lack of self-control.

“This is perfectly natural,” Octavius instructs, attentive. He unhurriedly kisses Jedediah’s blue-covered shoulder, his throat, growing hard. Jedediah’s eyes flutter open, suppressing a shudder. Their gazes lock. “I’ve got you. I’m never letting you fall.”

Never breaking eye contact, Octavius draws up slightly, unclasping his pteruges and letting them drop. Jedediah is still dressed, but it is of little matter. Not for his purposes.

“I have so much to show you...”

He eases down, rolling his hips in a long, slow grind, turning the mindless rutting of earlier into an act of lovemaking.

Jedediah’s hands stroke up and down his back. Mouth open, eyes closed, he shudders.

Hands gripping Jedediah’s hips, Octavius rocks up into him, grinding, circling, keeping his movements focused and unhurried, watching his face, listening to his breath catch, and the strangled little love noises Jedediah makes.

Jedediah gazes at him through heavy-lidded eyes, as though committing him to memory.

Each time Jedediah attempts to speed their movements, Octavius slows the pace, rocking lazily, forcing him to climb back from the edge, teaching him without words, making the lovemaking last.

Wrapped up in each other, they stare, mesmerized as Octavius brings them both to completion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special shout-out goes to my super mega awesome power beta, [CuriousDinosaur.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) Thank you for continuing to cheer me on, push me up the hill, and calm my nerves. Your friendship is a gift. ♥
> 
> Also, please note, we are drifting into uncharted waters...
> 
> To my readers, Happy Holidays ♥


	24. From You, I'll Never Part

_Later…_

With their added physical intimacy, Jedediah’s somber, cautious brooding, the breakdowns, all of his nervous passion and unspent energy seems to be giving way. In its place, a more playful side to his nature is emerging.

Case in point: Octavius hears a twig snap and a fast hurtling missile rockets through the air. He instantly stops cleaning his sword and ducks as an apple goes whistling past his head.

He peers up and the culprit sidesteps into the shadows, disappearing behind the sheltering leaves of one of the trees that has taken root nicely here in the Old West.

Attempting not to laugh at the spirited antics, he lowers his head and forces the flirtatious twinkle from his eyes, keeping his expression bland, all the while experiencing the simple, quiet joy of being in love with the right person — and from feeling loved in return.

Jedediah pops his head from the leaves moments later, balancing himself on a limb. Hopping down from a branch, he lands in a deep crouch.

His eyes glimmer as he carries his Stetson in his hand, which is full to the brim with apples. If it is possible for a man to be thus, he is radiant.

He appears rakish if Octavius does think so himself.

“I certainly can handle flour,” Jedediah is saying, smiling a recently-introduced smile, one full of contentment. “I’m gonna make you apple pie, caramel apple bread pudding, apple dumplings, caramel apples, apple crisp, apple crumble, roasted apples, apple tarts…”

Keeping his eyes trained expectantly on Jedediah’s face, Octavius quirks an eyebrow. While all of these concoctions Jedediah is listing sound mysterious and wonderful, food is the farthest thing from his mind. He lifts his hand and skims his palm over Jedediah’s leather-covered thigh.

Jedediah quiets, watching as Octavius rises up on his knees and pushes away his sword and the Stetson.

Apples go tumbling from the hat as Octavius reaches his fingers up to tangle in Jedediah's hair. He tugs his beloved closer and presses their lips together. His other hand, he presses to Jedediah’s chest.

Jedediah makes a sound, a soft throaty hum at the back of his throat as he is lowered back and then straddled.

He comes alive.

The apples are kicked aside and Octavius’s hips are gripped, and then Jedediah is kissing him, sloppy and soft and open and sweet. His hands touch Octavius’s knees and then slide up ever so slowly, under the pteruges, pushing up his undergarments, exploring, thumbs massaging his thighs.

It has been like this for several weeks now, a few stolen moments here and there of hurried fumbling at clothes and flesh — mostly Octavius’s. Not that he minds. They are enjoying each other, learning each other, Jedediah proving to be every bit as eager, ardent, and attentive a lover as Octavius could have hoped. With a few exceptions, of course. Octavius has yet to be successful at getting Jedediah’s clothes off.

It hasn’t been for lack of trying.

Octavius gasps as Jedediah’s knuckles ghost over his arousal, letting out a breath that sounds more like a whimper when he is freed from his undergarments.

Eyes bright, Jedediah bites his lip. His mouth curves at the corners in satisfaction at Octavius's surprised, appreciative gasp and the desire kindling in his gaze.

Urgently, Octavius lunges forward and their mouths collide. His tongue slides between Jedediah’s lips.

Jedediah’s lips part and he draws Octavius's tongue into his mouth.

Octavius groans when his friend’s palm curls around his length with the absolute perfect pressure required to send him over the edge, giving him several slow strokes.

His sweet little church mouse is learning.

Octavius breaks the kiss, a flood of heat coursing through his veins. His breath catches, then deepens, as Jedediah works him faster, tenderness in his gaze.

It brings another low groan from Octavius’s throat. He allows himself to lose control, feeling safe to do so in the company of his beloved, thrusting into Jedediah’s hand. Stripped of all polish, his lips part, eyes half-lidded.

With a final shudder, he squeezes his eyes shut as the pleasure overtakes him. Brought to fulfillment, he slumps forward.

For a moment, the silence is only broken by his own ragged breathing.

And then he pushes up slightly to press their foreheads together. They stay this way for a while as he catches his breath.

In the interim, Jedediah levers up slightly, twisting to reach into his back pocket. Taking out a spare handkerchief, he cleans Octavius and attentively tucks him back in.

Octavius pulls away, then chuckles. He fusses, plucking twigs that have gotten caught in Jedediah’s hair.

Jedediah still grouses, angling his head and twisting his face away when Octavius becomes overly affectionate. However, a glimmer now appears in his eyes that tempers each grumble.

Octavius rumbles as Jedediah’s nose scrunches over all the fussing. Undeterred, he kisses him in earnest, slow and heated.

His hands trail down Jedediah’s chest, fingers stroking lightly over that flimsy blue fabric. He plays at the buttons, desiring nothing more than to demonstrate his mutual affection and give Jedediah the same kind of pleasure in return.

Moving his hands lower, he relishes the sound of Jedediah’s breath catching as he slides a hand between his legs, feeling his burgeoning erection.

Jedediah gives his throat, an open invitation.

Ever the opportunist, Octavius is instantly at his neck, fingers dancing up to the top edge of Jedediah’s breeches, seeking permission.

Jedediah’s hand at his chest stops him.

“Baby blue.” His voice is deliciously smoky. He closes his eyes, suppressing a shudder. “Stop. Ya gotta hold your horses on me here.” He leans forward and kisses the frustration lines from the corner of Octavius’s mouth.

“I wish to share pleasure with you,” Octavius says simply.

Jedediah strokes up and down Octavius’s arms, gentling his actions, affection shining clearly in his gaze. “Ain’t ready for anything under the clothes just yet.”

Octavius’s eyes flick down, then he brings his gaze back up. “Your body tells a different story.”

Jedediah kisses him sweetly on the nose. “Yeah? Well, don’t listen. I’ll settle down in a minute.”

His fingers gently move against Octavius's scalp in an idle rhythm.

He gets distracted, snorting softly, finding his amusements in gently ruffling Octavius’s short hair and making it stand up on end with each comb through, then smoothing it back down. “Let’s just enjoy what we can do with each other right now. Okay?”

Octavius’s eyes become heavy. He could so easily fall asleep this way, but allows himself to look his fill. This close, he cannot help but observe all the tiny imperfections on Jedediah’s skin, the crooked nose, the flyaway, messy yellow hair.

Octavius blinks at these unflattering observations, unconsciously cataloguing every one.

Jedediah’s face is as flawed as anyone's face close up. He is flawed. And yet he remains attractive to Octavius regardless, and the only one Octavius would ever wish to spend eternity with.

Octavius watches him for a long moment, not feeling the orbital shift. The instant passes by unnoticed.

Jedediah's eyes glitter and his grin eases Octavius's disappointment over not being permitted to move their physical relationship any more forward than it already is.

“As you wish,” Octavius concedes at last, and kisses him, the emotions he feels too large for his body, and what he really means to say is: _I will love you forever._

He finds he cannot stop touching Jedediah, tentatively stroking his fingers, then burrowing his face into the warmth of Jedediah's neck, murmuring sweet nothings against his throat.

Jedediah lets him. He hums, responsive, lifting his chin to allow better access again. “Ockie?”

“Hmmm?” Octavius asks, distracted by his ministrations.

“I want you to know that —” Jedediah groans, squirms, and lifts his chin higher at the attention. “Ah, God! What _the hell_ are ya doin’ ta’ me?”

His voice has changed pitch.

Octavius vibrates with silent, deliciously wicked mirth, grinning against Jedediah’s skin, worshiping his neck, and paying homage to his throat, his Adam’s apple, nipping and licking and mouthing upward. It amuses him greatly that it still doesn't quiet his beloved’s constant chatter.

“I’m — ah!” Jedediah trembles, his body beginning to submit, layers of stubbornness peeling away and lifting into the air on a soft sigh. His head falls back, knees bending, bracketing Octavius’s hips.

Not to be defeated, Jedediah determinedly lifts his head off the ground, saying in one breath, “What I’ve been tryin’ ta’ tell ya, for like, two minutes, is that I’m really glad when we first met my guns didn't fire.”   

Heart full to bursting, Octavius chuckles. He stops torturing the man and gives the skin a tender kiss. “As am I.”

He rubs his nose against Jedediah’s, then curls around him in an embrace, content.

“Marry me?”

At the softly spoken words, Octavius’s eyes snap open and he pops his head up.

Jedediah is completely still and quiet.

Octavius bites his lip. He’s asked so many times and has been refused, or has asked and gotten no reply...

Insecurity gnaws at him to the point he believes he imagined the murmured words or, at the very least, misheard them. He tilts his head quizzically. “I beg your pardon?”

Jedediah swallows deeply, his mouth a thin line. His hand trembles with nerves. He wets his lips and flicks his gaze. “Marry me.”

Octavius jerks, brow knitting together. He stares in shock, tilting his head. Then a shudder passes through him.

He blinks rapidly, eyes beginning to fill, studying Jedediah for an endless age. All he can think to ask is: “Why?”

“Because I love you,” Jedediah whispers.

Octavius's heart breaks a little at this admission. His chin quivers. Jedediah had never wanted fanfare, or great declarations, or even a ring. Now the machete, he wants. Africa, most definitely. And love. And a family of his own, which Octavius now shares.

He trembles.

Jedediah lifts his palm to Octavius’s face, thumb gently stroking his cheek, swiping away the tears. His eyes shine. “Don’t cry, angel-baby. Don’t cry.”

Hope bubbles in Octavius’s breast and his heart leaps. It beats so fast that he thinks it’s going to crack his ribs. He smooths a strand of hair from Jedediah’s forehead, then brings his eyes back down.

“You want to marry me?” he asks in wonder.

Jedediah nods, whispering, “Yeah.” His voice is soft.

Octavius blinks in disbelief. He pulls back. “Yes?”

Smiling, Jedediah laughs. “Yes!”

Overwhelmed with love, Octavius shouts for joy. He may even have even kicked his legs. It is a less than regal move. He kisses Jedediah fiercely.

Jedediah's mouth falls open, accepting the kiss, kissing him back.

They embrace, holding onto one another for dear life.

* * *

_Moments later..._

Jedediah continues holding him, stroking through his short hair, brushing his armor-protected back. Even through the metal, Octavius knows the touch is tender. Jedediah does not complain about the weight of the armor, but whispers softly of so many apple-centric concoctions he’s going to make for Octavius and the “little ones” it makes Octavius’s head spin. His tone is non ironic and loving.

He is most certainly on a roll and Octavius wishes for him to never stop talking.

They lie like this for some time as Jedediah regales him with his plans that sounds like it’s going to take several lifetimes to complete.

* * *

_Later…_

They are going to need a parade.  

Arms folded over his chest, Jedediah stops pacing. “We ain’t havin’ a parade!”

Octavius turns, lifting his finger to the ceiling in an edict. “New coins _must_ be made.”

“You ain’t makin’ new coins.” Jedediah points at his own face. “Nobody wants to see this mug on a piece of currency.”

“I do, I do!” Octavius bounces, hands balled into fists. “A marble statue must be erected and placed in the center of the city.”

Jedediah gives him _the look._

“Fine.” Octavius deflates, then flicks his wrist, the coins and statue momentarily forgotten. “A celebration, then.” He lifts his chin grandly, hands on his hips. “With feasting.” He sniffs. “And wine!”

Jedediah kicks dirt up in the tent; some flecks _ping_ against Octavius’s armor.

Octavius glances down. Looking back up, he arches an eyebrow.

Jedediah goes back to pacing like a caged feline in short, tight strides, thumbs in his back pockets. “And who is gonna do all this cooking? Hmm?” He raises both his eyebrows and crosses his arms again. “Ain’t gonna be me on my wedding night, I can tell ya that for sure, kemosabe. This here is me puttin’ my foot down. Comprende?”

Octavius lifts his chin higher. “We shall have wine, then. Just the wine.”

Jedediah rolls his eyes. Then he lifts his hand, rubbing his brow. “I don’t drink,” he reminds.

Octavius flicks his gaze. “Then, _I’ll_ have the wine.”

Jedediah huffs at this. Then he waves his arm in a wide arc and slaps his thigh. He cocks his hip.

“Look.” He hesitates, his hands moving in short, jerky motions, showing his frustration. “Why does this all have to be big?”

“Because it is a special occasion. The grandest. The finest. Our wedding must go down in history!” Octavius is getting himself worked up attempting to get it through Jedediah’s head that this is, indeed, a momentous occasion and should be celebrated as such.

“Baby,” Jedediah reasons calmly and gently. “History has already been written. I wasn’t in it.”

Octavius frowns. He purses his lips and lifts a knuckle to his chin, arching an eyebrow again, thoughtful.

In his daydreams, Jedediah _was_ there in his simple light blue toga, playfully peeking around columns, peering at him from the corners of his peripheral vision, and frowning his disapproval when Octavius became too pigheaded for his own good. Octavius knows he’s willed him there, but that conversation is for another time.

Jedediah removes his Stetson and slaps his thigh with it. He moves forward. “And it’ll be special even if it’s just us!” He nods. “Just us, and our respective Gods.” Tone even softer, a plea in his gaze, he says, “Why can’t it be just us?”

Brow furrowing, Octavius contemplates this, considering who he is marrying and the whole melting into the floor aspect. While he doubts Jedediah could actually blush hard enough to achieve meltdown, Octavius is certain his beloved would make a valiant effort.

Jedediah perks up. “My favorite holiday is coming up.” His head bounces from side to side hopefully. “The Fourth of July. Why don’t we do it then?”

Octavius arches an eyebrow. “You wish to tie your fate to me on the same night you celebrate American freedom?”

Jedediah bounces, arms outstretched. “Why not?” He jerks his thumb. “A celebration is already gonna be happening in town anyway. You can invite your boys. The Mayans can all head on over. You can bring your wine. Boom!” He claps his hands together. “Instant party! You have your celebration while we get hitched up on the side in private!”

Octavius curls his lip, not liking the compromise, but he considers it. Jedediah isn’t one for being the center of attention, not about anything deeply personal, preferring to have both a physical and psychological distance from most people. It’s a carryover from his former existence. Bashfulness, like his beloved’s modesty knows _no_ bounds!

Taking a deep and steadying breath, he lets it out slowly.

He supposes it would work, and if he waited until Jedediah warmed up to the idea of a big, expansive wedding, more than likely there would be gray in his hair and tarnish on his armor.

Arching an eyebrow hopefully, he says, “Will you be naked?”

“Not at the party, doggone-it! We have kids! And I ain’t parading around in my birthday suit in front of anybody but you!”

Octavius preens at this admission of planned monogamy. Then he points, demanding clarification. “So you _will_ be naked? Everything off. From your neckerchief down to your boots?”

Slapping his own thigh, Jedediah asks in exasperation, “Why do ya need me to take my boots off?”

“Jedediah…” Octavius warns.

Flailing, Jedediah shouts, “Ah, come on! With you, _yes,_ I’ll be naked. Absolutely! God! We’ll be married!”

“Praise _all_ the gods!” Octavius lifts his arms in benediction. He holds his pose for a moment, feeling their blessings hitting their target like a divine light shining down upon him through the tent’s canvas. There may even be a celestial chorus sounding off from Jedediah’s section. Octavius believes he hears them.

Solemnly, he rocks back on his heels and twists around. He nods. “Very well. We shall marry in private, our own ceremony.”

Jedediah’s eyebrows shoot up to meet his hairline. His tone is soft and a little high-pitched. “Really?”

Octavius inclines his head. “Yes.”

Jedediah slaps his own forehead. “Oh, thank God! I thought it was going to be like pullin’ teeth!”

Humor lighting his gaze, Octavius comes back with, “Well, since you put it that way, I can make it more difficult.”

With an exaggerated slowness, he moves forward with calculated, graceful movements and plays with Jedediah’s shirt buttons. Head tilted at an angle, he smiles bemusedly, trailing his fingers down to Jedediah’s flat stomach, feeling the shift of muscles against his hand.

“Tell me,” he murmurs in pure British elegance and Roman allure. His smile never flickers. “How much do you desire this private ceremony of yours? Because I can go extravagant. I could swing down from the ceiling and serenade you like one of your angels from on high. I can even have my men learn a dance number for the occasion.” Wiggling his eyebrows, smile widening, he teases Jedediah, bobbing his head to the side, giving him a telling look, “The Americans, too.”

The next thing Octavius knows, Jedediah grabs him about the waist and tosses him on his one-man bed.

Negotiations quickly devolve from here, with Octavius laughing as Jedediah straddles him, whopping him mercilessly with his own pillow.

Octavius feels his eyebrows rise, attempting not to laugh. Suddenly, he grins hugely, stupidly, probably looking a little deranged.

Then it gets interesting again when he lifts his head for a kiss and Jedediah’s face goes soft.

Pillow fight forgotten, Jedediah tilts his chin, closing his eyes. Their lips meet, soft and slow. The pillow gets shoved aside as both pairs of hands wander in reverent exploration.

Over the clothes...

* * *

_Nights later..._

It’s a few nights before Independence Day and the fireworks aren’t working.

The Americans have tested out several different varieties, and as much as they try, they either get a slight pop, a fizzle, or _ZZzzzzzttt_ , and a whole lot of black, dense smoke. Not to mention a lot of expletives and cursing in both English and Chinese.

Jedediah stomps his feet, hands on his waist. “Ah, come on!”

The twins get the idea to add more black powder, and then even more black powder. Not believing they have enough, they add more, and hum, bobbing their heads in time to their own raucous tune while they pour.

More, still, is added.

While Octavius has never actually _seen_ fireworks, he knows his sons. One of two things is going to happen. Nothing, or grievous bodily harm, wanton destruction, general mischief, pushing, shoving, petty grievances loudly voiced over who precisely killed who, and chronic thuggery.

Fist lifted to his chin, he shakes his head. He looks to the American sky for guidance.

Doc elects Ringo to hold the cylinder rod.  “Let’s get this ball rolling.” He lights the overlong fuse.

Being the more nurturing parent, Jedediah covers his eyes. “Boys, you two are doing a number on my blood pressure!”

Doc waves, nonplussed, and drawls, “Don’t you fret none. He’s gonna be fine!”

Ringo scrunches up his Stetson, swiping it from off his head and tilting the Roman candle in Doc’s direction. “Why me!”

“Geez-us!” Doc ducks, then readjusts the candle. He’s learned several things from his father, removing his own Stetson and beating his brother with it. “Just hold it up to the sky, dumbass. It’ll be fine.”

Ringo watches the sizzling fuse making its long journey up the firework, hypnotized. “Until it blows up in my damn hand!”

Off to the side, Nat just shakes his head, fists clenched against his waist.

“Well, look at it this way. You picked the wrong night to quit drinkin’!”

Ringo glares, leveling Doc with a look. “I hate you.”

Doc appears stung. He loses the cocky twist to his lips and clutches at his own chest. “Now you wound me. You don’t mean that.”

“Yes,” Ringo announces. His expression is impassive, his eyes unfathomable. “I do.”

“Well, I luh-uh-uh-uhve you,” Doc drawls out, complete with head bob, doing his utmost to intentionally irritate his brother, and receives a death glare for his troubles. “Come on, man. Don’t be spineless. It’ll be fine.” He grips Ringo’s shoulders and claps his arms. “Now for once in your life, be useful.”

He backs up several paces away. Then he scoots back some more. He and Nat share a look; they glance at the Chinese Railroad workers, and then they each scramble back several more collective paces, surrounding Ringo in an ever widening circle.

Ringo spins, his gaze taking in everyone. He glares at them all, bottom lip protruding. “Hey! You all can suck it!”

And then —

_Phew...phew...phew, phew, phew-phew-phew, phew, boom, boom, weeeeeee!_

The entire Old West diorama lights up in whites, blues, greens, reds, purples, and pinks, sparks crackling brightly in the American sunlight.

Romans and Americans scatter.

The noise and pyrotechnics startle Octavius, and he jumps back, shrinking away from the display. Panic striking, he brings his arms up to protect his face.

There is a brush of air, and Jedediah is beside him, catching him by the shoulders, steadying him. He can feel Jedediah's warm breath against the side of his neck and shivers, realizing he's backed himself completely into Jedediah's arms.

“You okay?” Jedediah asks against his ear.

“I’m fine,” Octavius murmurs. Then, there is more loud _popping._ The sounds seem to be neverending, one right after the other!

Mouth agape, he holds his helmet to his head, jerking his shoulders back into Jedediah’s personal space. He lifts his head in awe and rasps with pride in his voice, “Roman technology at work!”

Jedediah whispers, “Chinese.”

Octavius arches an eyebrow. “Really?”

Jedediah nods.

Turning back, Octavius says, “Glorious.” It is also terrifying. Humbled, he looks into the sparkling American sky, eyes wide, almost without thought. “What strange wonders…”

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! I’m regretting my life choices!” Ringo shouts, bouncing up and down, kicking his legs as sparks fly. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop this train, I wanna get off!”

_Phew, phew, phew-phew-phew, phew!_

Doc angles his head back and howls. “Whooooooo-whee!”

“It’s goin’ down!” Nat yells, waving his Stetson.

“Bullshit!”

**_BOOM!_ **

Everyone jerks.

And then the air is filled with gray and black particles.

Shoulders scrunched, Ringo ducks as a shower of sizzling sparks umbrellas down over his head. His sleeves, Stetson, head, neck, and shoulders are all covered in black powder.

He shakes his head and flecks of powder goes flying from his hair. Stomping and glancing straight over at Jedediah, he lifts shaking arms and wails, “I want my momma!”

Jedediah jerks his neck back, eyes squinting. He whips his head to find Octavius with a humorous glint in his eyes. He pushes him away.

He rests his fisted hands on his waist, hip cocked, annoyed. “I ain't his mother,” he mutters grumpily.

Octavius pats him gently. “I know, darling. He’s insensate. And you're better.”

Not placated, Jedediah smacks his hand, rapidfire.

The Americans cheer, hoot, and holler, applauding.

The smoke clears and across the dioramas, Octavius can see the Mayans have all hit the ground, arms over their heads, legs askew.

“I’ll be damned!” Doc claps, impressed. “Bravo!  Whew!”

Ringo stands, trembling. He stares up at his brother through slitted eyes. “I’m goin’ ta’ kill you. I’m gonna shoot you in the eye!” It’s something else the twins have picked up from their father. Growing passionate, he lifts his chin. “Right in the dad-gum eye!” He squeaks in distress a couple of times. “Ah, hell, Doc. I think I just pissed myself.”

Not truly realizing the danger he’s in, Doc swaggers over and claps him on the shoulder. “Take it like a man! You’ve just made _miniature_ history.”

Ringo turns sharply, an incredulous look on his face. He tosses the torn and blackened remains of his Roman candle and springs into action. His arms are held shakily out in front of him like he’s going to strangle his brother with his bare hands. He just might.

Doc darts back, taking off like a shot. The American crowd parts, allowing the chase to continue.

And then, the pair are gone, leaving twin clouds of dust, soot, scorch marks, and a puddle on the ground.

* * *

_Later…_

Even though the wedding is going to be a private affair with only Octavius and Jedediah in attendance, the Huns' leather armor have all been polished to a high shine for the upcoming glorious night out of respect.

They all appear combed, well-groomed, and wonderfully presentable for the occasion.

Attila speaks rapidly, eyes wide. Talking with his hands, his fingers are splayed, and his arms expand into ever widening circles. Then he thumps his chest with his fist and points to his heart. He appears to be giving Octavius a pep talk. His gaze darts, his nervous, warbly voice speeding up.

Octavius pats his son’s arm, soothing his nerves.

Attila nods, grateful, breathing in and out through his nose slowly. His eyes are bright.

After Attila gets a hold of himself, Octavius tasks his much larger brood with a mission to give them each something to do to take their minds off the nuptials. It involves stealth and cunning and absolutely no ripping of any night guard limbs.

The Huns’ faces fall. They each hang their heads, bottom lips protruding. Their shoulders slump, and they let out little forlorn huffs of breath. They scuff their booted feet against the tile floor, stirring up the dust bunnies. It is another Jedediah habit that has transferred on to their children.

“Buck up,” Octavius advises, standing with his arms akimbo. He puffs out his chest. “There is more to life than ripping your enemies limb from limb.”

The Huns grunt. They appear skeptical, but they are listening.

Octavius scrunches up his nose. Holding up his forefinger and thumb, Octavius measures the distance between them. “A little bit of an awkward response there, my darlings,” he replies. “I know you can behave better.”

He waves his children closer so they are all huddled around him as he details his glorious wedding night surprise.

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah waves his hand. “If you wanna be mayor, then be mayor. It won’t hurt my feelings none. I don’t care.”

“You don’t understand, sir. I want the _title_ of mayor, but I don’t want any of the responsibility that goes along with it.” Black Bart sniffs grandly. “You can keep that.”

Bart's self-importance is getting rather irksome.

Octavius watches, tight-lipped, as the former outlaw totes his plan, angling for glory. In Octavius’s mind, the man is already learning the perfectly pleasant and equally condescending speech of a true politician.

Only, because it is a fledgling aspiration, he is being more forthright about his ambitions than most, already treating Jedediah like he is less than intelligent, making empty statements laced with flattery, backhanded compliments, and wheedling, tailored to encourage him to bow out gracefully while still expecting him to do all the heavy-lifting without any of the credit.

It is everything Octavius can do to hold his tongue. His hands clench at his sides. Jedediah does not want power, does not care whether he has the title of leader or not, but Octavius is still angered on Jedediah’s behalf.

Jedediah’s brow furrows as he tilts his head. He sits on a stool in the saloon, arms folded, one booted foot propped on a rung of the stool leg, having been dragged in here by the former outlaw. “Why do ya wanna be mayor all of the sudden?”

Black Bart puffs out his chest, hands clasped to the lapels of his black coat, bottom lip pushed into a pout. Then he loses his arrogance and condescending smile.

“Jane. She says she’s setting her sights higher,” he says out of the side of his mouth, a little embarrassed, true regret in his voice as he shifts uncomfortably. “To men of power. She wants a man of profound insight and exceptional accomplishments, sirs. A wheeler and dealer.” He rolls his wrist, then places his hands back on his lapels. “And, she declares she wants equal share of his political power.”

Octavius — who _is_ a politician — swallows and shrinks back against the bar, not wanting any part of Jane and her scheming. He is man enough to admit he’s terrified of her and probably always will be.

This is another reason he wants a grand ceremony, so Jane and her ilk will come to terms that both he and Jedediah are spoken for. Permanently.

Although, if this petty jockeying for position and power has nothing to do with ego, and everything to do with keeping Jane happy and appeased and her sights set solely on Black Bart or Charley or even Titus, and not Jedediah or himself, Octavius will gladly accept Bart as the _official_ leader of the Old West in title only.

Jedediah rubs his forehead. “Well, it’s still a democracy…” He pulls a face, eyes darting around the room. “Ain’t it?” he asks, a little panicked, genuinely unsure.

Being out of his time and out of place can do that to a man.

Black Bart nods, manner grave, solemn, as though what he’s saying is of profound import. “It is, sir. It is.”

Jedediah looks toward Octavius. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands. “Whataya think?”

Octavius drags his eyes from Bart, gaze traveling to Jedediah. He angles his head with polite disinterest. “I think it is up to you and what _you_ want. I will support your decision either way.”

Jedediah sighs, roguishly tugging his Stetson down over his eyes. Grateful, he smiles with half his mouth. His arms remain crossed. He is neither persuaded nor dissuaded.

Black Bart rocks on his heels, lacing his hands behind his back, still wheedling hopefully. “Perhaps I could start off small? Try my hand at being the master of ceremonies at the celebration, first, you understand. Get everyone used to the idea? Then, we can all vote for me.”

Jedediah lifts his head to see past his Stetson. Huffing, he waves a hand. “Fine, fine.”

Black Bart beams.

* * *

_Later…_

The American diorama is full of laughter, everyone gearing up for the festivities.

At the moment, there are a good number of American women and several men swooning, at least in Octavius’s estimation. Granted, he’s a bit biased. They could simply be interested by the novelty of what is going on in front of them.

Arms crossed, Octavius leans against a fence post, love lights shining in his gaze.

The crisp, blue sleeves of Jedediah's shirt are rolled up to his elbows, showing off his nicely toned arms. Flour is on his face and in his hair.

Contrary to his assertions about not doing any of the cooking for the wedding, he has suddenly decided he needs to be busy and doing something useful, a bundle of nervous, frenetic energy. So he has painstakingly set up a makeshift workstation and a stone oven just outside of town and is stress baking.

He is also stress cooking, frying up chicken, chopping apples, rolling out pie crust, and stirring dumplings.

He takes a step back for a moment, propping a rolling pin against one shoulder.

The smells are enticing. And he’s cooking enough to feed an army — which, technically, he is.  The Romans, the Americans, and the Mayans.

Underneath the table is Assassin. He is munching on scraps, flour on his little brown head, oinking softly.

He sneezes, shaking his head vigorously, stirring up tiny dust-flour clouds.

Some of the onlookers simply watch, fascinated by the show.

There are several women fanning themselves, watching him. Some wear expressions of thinly veiled interest. Others twist back and forth, twirling their parasols, biting on the tips of their porcelain white gloves.

Octavius does a double-take. His world dips, pivoting on its axis. So, perhaps not _all_ of the interest centers solely around the novelty.

He narrows his eyes.

Octavius stops himself from actually curling his lip at the more blatant interest. He’s been told jealousy is unbecoming. So he lifts his chin, feeling pride that Jedediah seems to have caught the eyes of, at least, a few admirers.

Jedediah is oblivious. He doesn’t even seem to realize he has an audience. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and kneads dough with his hands.

Off to the side, he has a large cast iron barrel bubbling with caramel for dipping apples.

Unknowing the entire significance of the occasion, some of the women break off from the group, desiring to help. They grab a few pots and pans. Others begin sprinkling flour on Jedediah’s workstation in preparation for the Fourth of July.

Jedediah stops, confused. Eyes darting, he squints over at the women and a few men taking over his “kitchen.”

He takes a deep breath and turns around, finding Octavius watching him fondly, and smiles softly. He ducks his head at the focused attention.

Knowing Jedediah has eyes like this for no other brings the light back to Octavius’s gaze. Even when Octavius sees a few helpers bump into Jedediah “accidentally” on purpose.

Jedediah goes back to his work, looking for his pugio. Searching this way and that, he seems to have forgotten where he’s left it.

Octavius pushes away from the fence post and ambles over. He picks up the knife, lying discarded on the workstation.

Clearing his throat, he holds out the blade, allowing Jedediah to take it from his fingers, hilt first. Then, he wisely chooses to move back and let the man work.

This goes on for two nights. When Jedediah isn’t looking, Octavius leaves little gifts for him: a new pie pan here, an extra knife there (because the other cooks keep trying to walk away with his).

Octavius also brings over some exotic ingredients from his kitchens. He leaves the honey in Rome.

* * *

_Later..._

When Jedediah steps away from the makeshift kitchen for a few minutes, he brings Octavius a gift of a warm caramel apple.

Beautifully glossy, the apple is shyly presented to him on a small plate.

Octavius grins at the confection before gazing adoringly at his husband-to-be, heart pounding with excitement for the next night.

Jedediah seems to be having the same thoughts, as the tip of his tongue flicks out and he wets his lips. He ducks his head and smiles shyly, twisting a dish towel in his hands.

Nodding, he says, “Go on. Try it.”

Octavius opens his mouth, but cannot find the words to speak. So many emotions fill him at once.

Jedediah is having the same difficulty and after a few moments of anxious silence they can only smile and laugh, leaning closer towards each other.

Feeling coy, Octavius suddenly swipes his finger against the apple, scooping up some of the caramel.

He slowly brings it up to his parting lips, watching as Jedediah grins, waiting for him to try it, when quick as a flash Octavius smudges the warm sugar against Jedediah's bottom lip.

“Wha— _mmf!”_

The apple goes rolling away as Octavius drops the plate, and before Jedediah can protest, he wraps his arms around Jedediah’s shoulders, kissing him in earnest.

He trails his fingertips down Jedediah’s spine, to the small of his back, pulling him closer, bringing their hips into contact.

This kiss is everything and nothing like their first in the library; mutual feeling exists now. Love.

Tomorrow, nothing will come between them. Pressing his body against Jedediah's, he tells him this through his kiss, rolling his hips against Jedediah’s growing arousal.

Light flashes behind his eyelids, and Jedediah’s fingers are digging into his arms, clinging.

He pulls away the instant he feels Jedediah push against him, desiring more. He breaks their kiss to let Jedediah gasp for air.

Jedediah holds a hand to his head, wobbling slightly on his feet, mouth open. His cheeks redden when Octavius’s eyes flick down to glance at his obvious need, biting his lip.

He drops his hand, as if to hopelessly hide himself when Octavius catches his palm and presses a loving kiss to the back of his knuckles.

“Delicious,” he says at last.

Octavius leaves Jedediah staring after him, twisting his dish towel, wanting more.

* * *

_Later…_

It is the night of their wedding and they have just unfrozen, skin and attire softening and becoming real.

Jedediah has become almost militant of late of keeping propriety and distance between them on the countdown to their nuptials. Which means: no hanky panky. At all.

They do not wake up on the floor of their tent together for fear the cuddling may get out of hand before they say their vows. Jedediah is adamant they say their vows.

Octavius feels a little smug at this. At least, Jedediah has not resorted to the chaperones again, but Octavius believes the threat is looming. So, he behaves.

He is in his bed and Jedediah is currently occupying the floor, conspicuously _not_ dozing.

Octavius sits up, shy and excited, and at the creak of the bed, Jedediah perks his head up from his blankets. He looks adorably rumpled, pen in hand, appearing to have been writing in his journal.

Not really knowing why, Octavius finds this uncommonly sweet. He all but leaps from the bed, attempting to swipe the journal from Jedediah’s hands, wanting to read what he's been writing about them.

The book snaps shut and a rollicking game of _keep-away_ spontaneously ensues. The game abruptly ends with Octavius delightfully pinned, which is where he wanted to be anyway.

He attempts to break free by aiming kisses on Jedediah's face, but Jedediah dodges each one, laughing free and easy and bright.

“Ockie.” He twists his face away, eyes twinkling. “We gotta get up.”

“Never!” Octavius wiggles. “I’m winning.”

Jedediah stops, tilting his head. “I gotcha pinned.”

Octavius lifts his head, arching a brow and letting the warmth of Jedediah's nearness melt into his body. “Precisely. A sound victory if I do say so myself.”

Jedediah laughs, shaking his head. “You're incorrigible.” This time he does bend on his _no hanky panky_ policy and kisses him softly on the lips. “Now let’s go. We gotta get up,” he repeats, swatting Octavius. “Gotta get this party started.”

Sighing dramatically, Octavius says, “Oh, very well.” And then he reluctantly allows himself to be pulled to his feet.

* * *

_Minutes later…_

Jedediah rubs his chin warily. He looks at Octavius through the mirror of the barber’s shack while Octavius sits up straight, arms draped over the armrest in perfect ease, looking like a king on his soft and cushy throne.

Lathering his face, Jedediah prepares for a shave.

“Drat,” Octavius says. “And I was just getting used to your stubble.”

Exasperated, Jedediah turns and gives the chair a spin. Octavius finds entirely too much pleasure from the motion, head tilted back, twirling around gloriously.

Jedediah puts a halt to the spin. “Yeah?” He leans down and cups Octavius’s face, thumb stroking against his rough cheek. “Well, I ain't so used to yours.”

Octavius lifts a palm to his own face, feeling the soft rasp of unshaven skin. He frowns. His grooming has been slipping the longer he's been living in the Old West.

He must look presentable on his wedding night. “I shall tend to it immediately.”

He rises from the barber’s chair, intending to return to Rome and have Felix groom him properly.

Jedediah stops him with a simple, “Ockie.”

Octavius turns.

Pointing to the chair, Jedediah says distractedly. “I can do it. Just give me a minute.”

With a sense of fascination, Octavius watches as Jedediah carefully shaves his face smooth and clean, humming to himself as he swishes the blade in a bowl of water to rinse it off.

Octavius lifts a palm to his unshaven jaw, feeling the slight stubble again and hesitates, but then remembers he’s marrying this man and trusts him with his life. And he does, intellectually. It is simply that old habits die hard and his instinct is geared toward self-preservation.

Jedediah is finished within minutes, looking young and handsome as he wipes his face dry with a towel. Setting the towel down, he turns to Octavius with a smile and points to the chair again.

Solemnly, Octavius lowers himself down to sit, attempting not to give the impression he’s nervous.

Jedediah does not notice as he fetches clean water, a couple of towels that he warms, and unwraps a new razor from a paper square, talking the entire time.

If he takes note that Octavius is being unnaturally quiet, he makes no mention of it, seemingly able to entertain himself with his own chatter as he eases the chair back.

Jedediah takes Octavius’s face in his hands, angling his chin and jaw, eyeing the area critically. “Just inspectin’ what I got to work with,” he explains.

Octavius says nothing, simply nodding as much as he is able to.

Jedediah grabs a bottle, untwists the cap and rubs his hands with a pleasant smelling oil, smoothing it over Octavius's jaw and neck, then he takes one of the warmed towels, covering Octavius’s face.

Satisfied, Jedediah removes the towel and Octavius’s cheeks and chin are quickly lathered with Jedediah’s gentle hand, using white foam, running the lather lightly over his skin.

Octavius swallows, his Adam’s apple sliding against Jedediah's fingers.

Jedediah lifts the razor.

Octavius flicks his gaze, seeing the silver gleam of the blade as it catches the light for the first time. He shivers involuntarily.

“Sharp,” Octavius comments, eyes remaining riveted to the blade, voice distant. He is mentally somewhere else.

“Go ahead and relax for me.” Jedediah says softly, and Octavius finds that he cannot.  

At the first small swipe of the blade, Octavius jolts, panicked, and Jedediah hesitates at the action, catching his eye.

Jedediah’s gaze darts over his face, quickly dabbing Octavius with the towel, searching for wherever he’s nicked him. There is no blood.

Octavius’s reaction has the same effect as if he’d shouted. Jedediah’s gaze searches Octavius’s eyes. He looks distressed. Uncertain, he hands the straight-edged razor over.

“Um, ah...you wanna do it, maybe?” he asks softly.

Octavius closes his eyes. Blowing out a breath, he says, “No.”

He pushes the razor back toward Jedediah. It takes all of his courage.

“You may do it, but...please...” He almost says, “Be gentle,” but that sounds too much like flirting — which, Octavius is not doing at the moment. He is nervous and letting it show and... this is wrong because Jedediah has been nothing but careful. So he says instead, “Go slow.”

Jedediah tilts his head at an angle, but he nods. “Okay.”

Ever so slowly, he stretches Octavius’s skin with his free hand, ghosting the blade over the right side of Octavius’s face in short, precise strokes, all in a downward motion.

The rasp of blade against the short stubble should be nerve-wracking, but the sound and motions are pleasing, so Octavius closes his eyes.

Jedediah repeats the process on the left side, using the whole of the blade. He uses the tip for Octavius’s upper lip, and then goes especially slow over the chin.

“That’s the hardest part,” he says as he works, keeping the conversation quiet and calm.

Then he starts on the neck, working from bottom to top, over Octavius’s Adam’s apple carefully. The rasp of stubble here is unnerving, but Octavius squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to relax.

Once Jedediah is done, he uses another warm towel, rubbing oil over Octavius’s jaw and neck again, and shaves Octavius’s face one final time, flicking the razor against the grain.

All during Jedediah’s work, Octavius has relaxed by increments, and is jolted back to reality when Jedediah says, “You’re all done.” Still going especially slow, he twists Octavius’s chair around to face the mirror. _“Taa-daa!”_

Octavius runs a hand over his jaw and neck without hitting even one whisker. Nor is there one droplet of blood. No nicks. He is impressed.

Octavius lifts his palm and gently caresses Jedediah’s smooth face. “You are a treasure.”

There is more meaning behind his words than Jedediah can ever realize.

Jedediah looks quietly pleased at the assessment. He still has a difficult time taking compliments, but he’s getting better.

However, his brow furrows, and he appears troubled, picking up on all the things Octavius does not say. His gaze bores into Octavius for a moment, as though trying to see into him.

Then, abruptly, he beams, shifting nonchalantly, and pulls back to kiss the back of Octavius’s hand. “No problemo.”

His eyes dance.

And with that, he helps disentangle Octavius from the barber's chair.

* * *

_Later…_

In due course, all has been made ready for the party. The Old West has been turned into a madhouse.

The Independence Day festivities are in full swing, with paper-thin orange lanterns strung up between shops, booths nailed together out of spare wood to hold crafts, games, and food. The air is sweet with pies and cakes, and treats enough to feed several armies — which is good because they are all here.

There is lively music, dancing and there is feasting and there are games galore all set up for everyone to enjoy.

Jedediah looks divine in his crisp, white shirt and pinstripe trousers, and Octavius has opted to look his military best for the occasion.

For a while they stand close together, exchanging shy smiles as they oversee that the frivolities do not get out of hand. However, everyone seems to be on their best behavior. Even Doc and Ringo are talking civilly as they tuck into large plates of food.

They watch different members of the dioramas drifting off into smaller groups, making idle chit chat or teaching each other their different games.

The saloon patrons are delighted to teach Romans and Mayans alike card play and other games of chance, rolling cigars in their mouths and grinning shark-tooth grins at each new player.

Jedediah tells them to play nice.

Octavius still cannot get Jedediah to dance with him even though there are several different variations of dancing all going on at once.

The party goers swirl around them, punctuating the air with laughter while Jedediah teaches Octavius horseshoes and corn-holing, but it is the three-legged race that has Octavius enamored. This is mostly due to his joking belief that Jedediah could win the race all by himself.

His husband-to-be would find this less than amusing, which amuses Octavius even more.  

Observing Octavius’s interest in the contest, Jedediah grabs him by the wrist and pulls him along. “Come on!” he calls jubilantly.

Such high spirits and eagerness causes Octavius to laugh. His eyes gleam.

Jedediah ties their legs together with a piece of rope, and when all the participants are ready, the master of ceremonies, Black Bart, lifts a gun into the air.

Since the firearm is useless here, he loudly calls, _“Bang!”_

And they are off.

The contest is harder than it looks and giddiness overtakes Octavius and makes him clumsy. Not to mention that he is naturally faster than Jedediah and their limbs tangle. He and Jedediah fall over. They lose the race, but they are laughing so hard it barely registers, or matters.

They stumble out of the path of the other contestants, finding it difficult to stand from laughter and still being tied together. No amount of failure can flag their spirits, and they scramble along, hopping.

Octavius loses his footing and they collapse again, covered in dirt and sand. They hug their sides, attempting to hold back the ache of unbridled laughter which sounds boyish and carefree.

Gazing at each other, they smile rather foolishly.

Octavius hears the cheers as the winners are announced, but it is the sound of Jedediah drawing in a long breath of happiness that causes him to feel far more victorious than any of the competitors could ever hope to be.

* * *

_Later…_

The party continues on after Octavius and Jedediah untie and dust themselves off.

It isn’t long after there is a brief electric hum and the artificial sun is abruptly extinguished.

Gasps of surprise come from most of the party goers, unsure of what is going on.

“What in the Sam Hill?” Jedediah says, looking around.

Octavius grins, gaze fixed, watching Jedediah's face by the glow of the orange lanterns.

It would appear the Huns have discovered the source of the overhead lights and have extinguished the artificial flames in the _Hall of Miniatures._

“It is a wedding gift, courtesy of our newest,” Octavius supplies, moving from foot to foot like a foolish, lovelorn teenager.

Jedediah lifts his head, peering up at the sky.

The other miniatures have all experienced a _blackout_ before, and they cheer the return of night.

All around them, the stars are coming out.

According to Octavius’s plan, the lights are going to remain out for the duration of the evening. The other half of the Huns’ mission is to guard the switches from “helpful” hands — with Baby’s assistance. Since most of the giants fear the Huns, Octavius does not think this will be a problem. And since they have been tasked with keeping Baby busy, they are going to be even more volatile than usual.

“This is for you, my love.”

Jedediah is speechless. It is clear from his body language he is stunned with the miraculous night.

He chooses to turn his head at this very moment, flicking his eyes. Their gazes lock. A dazed, awestruck expression lights up his face.

They speak volumes with their eyes, bewilderment and wonder from Jedediah. Hopefulness and longing from Octavius.

Jedediah ducks his head, grinning sideways, and Octavius’s heart stutters in his chest.

There is yelling of instructions between members in charge of the fireworks, each beginning to set up their displays.

A hush falls over the world, and Jedediah leads Octavius a little ways from town in order to find the best seat, just as the first Roman candle is shot up into the air.

Octavius jolts at the loud **_boom._ ** Face bent toward Jedediah, he clasps his hand as the firework explodes in the sky in a starburst of colors.

The sizzles of showering sparks, umbrella the Old West.

Awed and still a little jarred by the loud sound, he whispers, “Glorious,” and shivers.

Jedediah squeezes his fingers, both as a reply of sorts and to offer comfort.

Another firework is shot into the air, louder and more resounding than the first. However, the starburst is much grander, larger, spreading through the night sky in a glittering shower of glowing ash.

From every direction in the Old West come wild cheers and cries of encouragement from the onlookers for more.

Quietly, when there is a lull in the aerial displays due to the various members setting up the next rounds of fireworks, Jedediah tells Octavius a story about a man named Francis Scott Key who was moved to immortalize a scene of a great battle between the British navy and an American fort.

“And mortar fuses lit up the night sky. There were fires soaring and shells explodin’.” He talks with his hands, animated, his whispering growing louder the longer he speaks. “And then mornin’ came, thinking all hope was lost, he looked over towards the fort and Old Glory was still waving, standin’ proudly — a little worse for wear, mind. But after a night of bombardment like that? It was nothing short of a miracle.”

Jedediah waves his hands. “The sight was a mighty powerful symbol. And we use fireworks to represent the battles. The sounds are like cannon fire and muskets goin’ off and things explodin’.” He looks up into the sky. “And the sight of ‘em is real pretty,” he finishes softly.

Octavius looks on adoringly. “It would seem I still have much to learn about British and American conflicts.”

Jedediah simply shrugs, soft, speculative amusement in his eyes. “It was a long time ago. And the books in the library tell me we all kissed and made up. So...”

He rolls his shoulders.

Octavius cannot keep a straight face. He laughs and squeezes Jedediah’s hands.

Another firework is shot, lighting up the sky, lighting Jedediah’s face, playing over his white shirt, changing it to reds and blues and greens and golds — all the colors of the rainbow.

Sparks rain down from the heavens with a sizzle, the light reflecting in his gaze.

Octavius stares for a little too long, overcome, and Jedediah eventually notices. He quiets and looks over hesitantly.

Silence falls.

Blue eyes meet brown, their gazes are equally searching and wondering. Knowing. Octavius's heart leaps in anticipation.

And then, by unspoken mutual agreement, they rise.

Octavius takes Jedediah’s arm and they head toward their tent, keeping their pace even with one another.

* * *

_Later..._

A soft glow emanates from the lantern in the corner of the tent.

Octavius takes his time rolling up their sleeping mats. In the past few years he's become more self sufficient, even for an emperor.

He briefly thinks about his previous marriage beds. Fine, ornate, laden with flower petals. Fertility charms surrounding them. Incense burning.

Too romantic for three failed marriages.

Now he neatly folds their simple, plain blankets. They are warm and clean, and he will enjoy wrapping one around Jedediah later, after...

His hands tremble. He blinks, releasing a slow pent up breath.

Flicking his eyes over, he catches sight of the small wooden chest Felix had presented to him.

Octavius had hurried over to Rome, almost in secret, when he stumbled into Felix.

After a brief, whispered conversation and quelling Felix’s excited squeals and bouncing, the young man had asked Octavius to wait for a moment, before running back and presenting this beautifully carved box.

He took it with a look of confusion. It was too small for the machete that Felix had been forced to remake due to the destruction of Octavius’s house.

Felix patted the box once. “This is everything you shall need for your consummation.” He nodded once, breaking into a large, proud smile.

Face burning like a virgin, Octavius nodded, speechless, before Felix kissed both of his cheeks and hurried back to the pre-celebration celebration the Romans were throwing.

Octavius eases the chest open, almost terrified to see what Felix has deemed necessary for this night. It is an open secret Felix and his on-again/off-again American consort are quite...adventurous in regards to their bedroom play.

When he sees the contents, he breathes a sigh of relief. _“Oh, thank the gods,”_ he murmurs, peering up at the tent’s ceiling.

Organized neatly is a flask of water, soft, clean cloths, and a small vial of oil.

Snapping the chest shut, he sets it aside.

Rising to stand, Octavius takes several deep breaths.

Leaving the warmth of the tent, he steps out into the desert night, hearing the beginning whir of nighttime insects, frog song, and smelling the scent of the already set off fireworks in the air.

Jedediah stands before their campfire, staring into the soft, flickering flames, completely distracted by the darkened landscape, the glow of the flames. Everything.

Octavius is silent, watching him fondly from the entrance of the tent.

Then, Jedediah's head tilts back to look up at the night sky. He still gazes at it in wonder, taking in the experience.

Frowning in puzzlement, he angles his head in the opposite direction, listening intently to the awakened nighttime sounds coming alive around him.

Octavius is proud. This is a good gift, and one he, too, can enjoy. A soft breeze comes through the camp, rippling Jedediah's shirt, his hair.

Octavius comes up next to Jedediah as he climbs to his feet rather shakily. Wrapping his arms around Jedediah's waist, he leans his head on Jedediah's shoulder, gazing up.

His presence seems to startle Jedediah. He jerks, looking at Octavius in surprise. Slowly, he raises his arm, a gloved finger pointing at the distant lights of the stars. His other arm wraps around Octavius's shoulders.

“Ain't it amazin’? All the way out there, there’s thousands of fires just like this,” Jedediah says in a relaxed, conversational tone, pointing at their campfire, “just floatin’ there in heaven.”

As they watch, the first firefly lights up in front of them, and Jedediah is taken aback, gasping. Awestruck, he lifts the palm of his hand, catching the tiny insect as it floats by.

It glows in his hand, blinking a soft yellow light.

Jedediah studies it for a long moment, biting his lip, the tiny insect walking up to the tips of his fingers. “Ain’t it beautiful?” he asks Octavius.

The insect is lovely, but what is even more glorious is Jedediah’s reaction to this tiny little creature of nature. He is extremely gentle, treating the insect with the reverence it deserves.

“Miraculous,” Octavius agrees softly.

He watches, head on Jedediah’s shoulder, as Jedediah lifts his hand, and the firefly takes flight once more.

Jedediah turns to Octavius and gifts him with a wide smile. He takes off his gloves and jerks his thumb. “Come on.”

Octavius quickly helps gather their sleeping mats and blankets, along with his carved box. Together, they break down their tent, and head far out into the Old West until they can no longer hear the whoops and cheers from town.

* * *

_Later..._

Laying out their sleeping mats and blankets, Jedediah rises from his crouch and turns.

Neither he, nor Octavius speak. They stand, staring a moment, shifting on their feet, uncomfortable and nervous.

Far out in the desert, they have erected their tent around them, while outside, a fire pops and crackles.

Octavius extends a palm toward Jedediah.

Staring at the hand, Jedediah hesitates for a few seconds, then takes his fingers, walking into his embrace.

Outside their tent, there is a loud _boom_ from town, and the ground shakes for a moment. It is followed by bright colored lights that sizzle and spark, lighting the inside of the tent briefly.

Almost like lightning.

Jedediah lowers himself to his knees and Octavius quickly follows him down, heart pounding excessively.

Earnestly, Jedediah murmurs so low that Octavius must strain to hear him.

“I figured I’d go with Methodist vows since that’s what I know. Didn’t think you’d mind.” Jedediah brings his eyes up and his piercing blue gaze searches Octavius’s face. “Do you?”

Octavius watches him. “No. I have endured Roman marriages.” He glances down, fingertips touching Jedediah’s knuckles, as light as breath. Bringing his eyes back up, he says, “It is time I experienced something entirely different.”

Jedediah continues searching Octavius’s face for another long moment. At last, he says, “Take my hand.”

Octavius complies, reverently taking his hand.

“Repeat after me. "I, Jedediah Strong Smith, in the presence of God, take you, Octavius to be my husband...”

Nodding, Jedediah prods Octavius to repeat him.

Back straighter than any of his soldiers, Octavius begins with gravity in his voice. "I, born Gaius Julius Octavius, and later taking on the name and title, Imperator Caesar Divi Filius Augustus, in the presence of my gods, take you, Jedediah Strong Smith to be my husband...”

Jedediah stares at him, awestruck. His eyes are wide. “Good Lord!”

Octavius merely shrugs. “Names hold power.”

Wetting his lips, Jedediah blows out a breath. “And here I thought my name was long.” He shakes his head, then continues. “To have and to hold from this night forward. To be your best friend, your lover, your companion and helper...”

Speaking from his heart, Octavius repeats, “To have and to hold from this night forward. To be your best friend, your lover, your companion and helper...”

Jedediah bites his lip. “Forsaking _all_ others...”

Octavius’s cheeks flush in delight, gaze roaming over Jedediah’s face; he believes he will never tire of looking at him.

He is brought out of his doe-eyed state when Jedediah swats the back of his head.

“Forsakin’ all others,” Jedediah demands, adamant.

Octavius rubs the back of his skull. He raises both his eyebrows, muttering under his breath, “And the abuse begins already.”

Face grim, Jedediah repeats himself, waiting for Octavius to catch up. “I ain’t doin’ this less’n you’re faithful. That’s the deal.”

“Forsaking all others,” Octavius agrees, entirely sincere this time.

Jedediah works his jaw, then continues. “For better, for worse...”

Octavius inclines his head. “For better, for worse.”

“For richer, for poorer...”

Octavius dips his eyes and squeezes Jedediah’s hand. “For richer, for poorer.”

“In sickness and in health...”

Nodding, Octavius kisses Jedediah’s fingertips, then covers them with his hand. Bringing his gaze back up, he says, “In sickness and in health.”

Jedediah’s eyes flicker. “To love, honor, and cherish, until death do us part. This is my solemn vow."

Octavius echoes the words back. “To love, honor, and cherish, until death do us part. This is my solemn vow."

Jedediah beams, his earlier irritation evaporating. “We’re married!” Even on his knees, he cannot help his little bounce of excitement.

Staring, Octavius can hardly believe it. He wants to come back with: _That’s it? You cannot be serious!_ But even he knows this would be in poor taste and grossly inappropriate at such a juncture. And yet, he expected more. Possibly a blood pact. Something. Even the Chinese and Mayan ceremony had lasted longer. He expected the vows to go on for ages.

Off in the distance, there is another loud **_boom_** **,** followed by lights, and the very faint cheers from town.

Eyes squinting with merriment, Jedediah leans forward and their mouths connect, the kiss as innocent and chaste as the first time Jedediah kissed him in the stockade.

Octavius is convinced he’s felt the earth move. The world lights up in a sizzle of multicolored sparks.

He touches Jedediah’s shoulders, hardly believing it, reality setting in. They’re married. “You’re...mine?”

“We’re each other’s.”

Octavius swallows deeply. “And now?”

Jedediah tilts his head. He moves Octavius’s hand, guiding it to his neck and the knot in his red neckerchief. “I’ll take that hand now.”

Octavius has performed this intimate act of undressing another so many times before. Now, he feels like a blushing virgin. His fingers fumble as he loosens the knot, his eyes never leaving Jedediah's face.

Hooking a finger underneath the neckerchief, Octavius is beginning to think Jedediah double-knotted — even triple-knotted the neckerchief on purpose when he watches Jedediah patiently lift his head up to allow Octavius a better angle to see what he’s doing.

Realizing it is only nerves, Octavius slows his movements.

At last, the knots loosen and he slips the skin-warmed cloth from Jedediah's neck.

Off in the distance, more fireworks are being set off in town. They light up the night’s sky.

It is amazing, but even from this stretch, Octavius can smell the lingering smoke from the black powder.

Jedediah closes his eyes, taking a long, full breath.

The neckerchief drifts to the desert floor, lighter than air. Neither Octavius, nor Jedediah make a move to catch it.

Both hands come up to the collar of Jedediah's white shirt, mere inches from the first button when Jedediah sucks in a breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and tucks his chin. Flinching, he shifts his body away.

Octavius immediately drops his hands, finding Jedediah's gaze. “No?”

Jedediah’s eyes dart. Suddenly nervous, he can only shrug, biting his lip, brow crinkling.

“We will stop.”

“No, baby, I just...” Jedediah tucks his chin again, shaking a little, shrugging. He lifts his hand, palm out. “Gimme a minute.”

He takes several long deep breaths.

“Why don't you help me undress first?” Octavius suggests, wiggling his eyebrows. “You've seen _that_ all before.”

His suggestion gets a soft laugh and a grin as Jedediah ducks his head. “You’re a goof.”

“Of course, I am.”

“And an exhibitionist.”

Octavius shakes his head. “There is no shame in it.”

The familiar banter eases Jedediah’s nerves and the tension leaves the tent.

They spend the next few minutes laughing and struggling with Octavius’s armor, hardly caring as it is tossed into a growing pile in the corner, interspersed with their mouths meeting, parting, and meeting again all the while.

Soon, Octavius is standing barefoot in just his tunic.  

Just as he is reaching up to pull it from his body, Jedediah touches his arm.

Hands wrap around Octavius's wrists. His eyes widen as Jedediah brings his hands back up to the collar of his shirt. “You’re certain?”

Jedediah’s Adam’s apple bobs. He takes a very deep breath. “Yes.”

Meeting no resistance, Octavius undoes the top buttons. Pressing a hand to Jedediah’s chest, he guides him back until he is lying on their sleeping mats.

Hands still fumbling, it isn’t long before Octavius is met — not with flesh — but with red material.

Confused, he unbuttons a few more buttons of Jedediah’s white shirt. Then, he quickly unbuttons them all, pulling the fabric up and away from Jedediah’s chest.

“What is _this_?” he demands, spreading his hands wide. Well. It is one half demand, the other half is laughter.

Jedediah stops, attempting to catch his breath, and flicks his eyes down, following Octavius’s gaze. “Ockie?”

“How?” Octavius shakes his head, unbelieving the thickness of Jedediah’s white shirt to conceal this much _red._ “How can you _possibly_ have more clothes on? You live in the desert.”

Jedediah shrugs. He looks embarrassed, but his eyes reflect a telltale gleam. “I was cold,” he deadpans.

This time Octavius does laugh.

He leans forward and plants a kiss to Jedediah’s forehead, still laughing. Absolutely speechless, he presses their foreheads together, then kisses the very tip of Jedediah’s nose.

“Darling,” he says, breathless laughter in his whisper. “We’re supposed to be working on getting you _out_ of your clothes. Not adding to them!”

Jedediah bursts out laughing. Amused, the skin around his eyes crinkle as Octavius continues his gigglefest. He covers his face with his hands, sharing the joke.

Octavius runs his hands over this new barrier between his fingers and his spouse’s flesh. “I have been cursed!” he teases, tickling Jedediah in the process.

“Baby, please!” Jedediah clutches his stomach, his ribs. He jerks, still laughing as Octavius’s questing fingers find an even more ticklish spot. His shoulders bunch. “Stop!” He rolls half on his side to trap the hand.

“Dark magic. Voodoo.”

Jedediah rolls his head, then his eyes, but he is all smiles. He gazes up at the ceiling. “Oh, Lordy. Here we go...”

Rolling on his back, he pillows his head with his hands, jerking when Octavius sees his opening and tickles him once more.

“Tell me the truth. I'm the only one made of flesh and bone in this relationship, and you are simply made up of layers and layers of fabric!”

Jedediah closes his eyes, and then peeks one eye open. He lets out a yelp, raising his hands in placation, as Octavius finds a particularly ticklish spot. “Oct—”

“Like some sort of deceivingly handsome, blond _scarecrow!”_

Jedediah snickers — more like chortles — swatting him.

Eyes bright with humor, he catches his breath. The next instant, he gives Octavius a playful, dull-eyed stare. He rolls his head. “Are ya done?”

“Not until I finally see something resembling skin tone.”

Jedediah's fingers are quick to undo the top buttons and to Octavius's relief, the skin of Jedediah's chest is finally revealed.

He slumps forward. “Oh, blessed Jupiter. Thank you!”

Jedediah vibrates underneath him, back to laughing. Their foreheads touch. Then Jedediah pushes for a little distance in order to look Octavius in the eyes. “At least, I’m wearing Roman red underneath all this get-up.”

Octavius’s fingers glide across the fabric again. Curious, he inspects the thick material. “What is it?”

“They’re long johns. For winter.”

Octavius arches an eyebrow. “It’s summer.”

Jedediah rolls his eyes, then his head, and repeats, “I was _cold,_ okay?”

“Keeping you warm is now _my_ job.” Octavius wiggles his eyebrows. “Let me see what I can do.”  

With that, he gets his mouth around one of the large white buttons of the...long johns — _Jupiter, help him_ — and bites down on the thread.

The button pops off. He spits it out the tent flap. It goes rolling away. Jedediah watches it go until it is lost to the night, and draws in a sharp intake of breath.

Slowly, sensually, Octavius mouths the next button and snaps it off, revealing more of that exquisitely pink, manly flesh.

With a jerk of his head, this button, too, goes sailing out the tent flap, hurtling off into the desert.

He gets his mouth around the third button, and Jedediah lightly swats the back of his head, rapidfire. “Hey, hey, _hey!_ What in the Sam Hill do ya think you’re doin’?

Octavius drops the button from his mouth and lifts his head. He arches an eyebrow. “Being erotically flirtatious with my husband.”

“Erotically flirtatious, my hind end! _Who_ does the sewing around here? This ain’t erotic or flirtatious. What you’re doing is creatin’ more work for me!”

“Believe me, Jedediah. After tonight, you will never again need long johns or be donning any other brightly colored monstrosities designed as a crime against the human body.” Octavius plans to burn these long johns. Later. Much later. For now, however, nothing else will get in the way of his intrepid exploration.

He kisses Jedediah quiet.   

In a surprisingly soft movement, Jedediah leans forward and kisses him back, gently kneading the flesh of Octavius’s neck. After a beat, he pulls away, breaking the kiss. He pants, catching his breath. “Close your eyes.”

“Darling…”

“Close ‘em,’’ Jedediah insists.

With a sigh and a smile, Octavius closes his eyes. He even gets up and turns around. It is all he can do not to tap impatiently with his foot when he hears the soft shifting of clothes as Jedediah quickly finishes undressing in privacy.

Then he hears more rustle of fabric, as Jedediah quickly covers himself with the blanket. “O-okay.”

Taking a deep breath Octavius opens his eyes. Slowly he turns.

Jedediah is lying on their sleeping mat, covered modestly with a blanket, of course. What isn’t covered is his bare shoulders and arms, which shouldn’t be erotic. It is because it’s Jedediah, and he’s laid bare underneath those covers at last. There is a shy and eager smile on his love’s face and Octavius can only conclude that it is the most beautiful sight he's ever seen.

Without another thought, Octavius whips his tunic off.

He notes Jedediah's wide-eyed stare and the half-open, pursed mouth, the intimacy of such a simple act appears to be completely overwhelming him. His face flames. Even the tips of his ears are red. Worried Jedediah may actually begin to melt, Octavius wills himself to slow his movements.

With his gaze on Jedediah's face, he slowly slips underneath the covers to join him, keeping a respectful distance between their bodies. There is no way that Jedediah did not see his obvious arousal that seems to have sucked the blood, and all thought, from his brain.

After a few moments, Jedediah blows out a breath.

“So,” he says. His body trembles from Octavius's nearness. “What are we gonna do?”

“Right now?” Octavius arches an eyebrow and tilts his head. “Come here.” He holds out his arms. “I simply want to hold you.”

Jedediah frowns, blinking. “But ain't we supposed ta’…” He waves his palms in a wide arc. Thankfully, he does not simulate the act of sex with his fist.

Octavius shushes him. “We have all night. And each other. There is no rush, my love.” He scoots closer, at last feeling firm, warm skin.

Jedediah is tense. His nose scrunches up. Face grim, there is no give to his muscles, but he allows the embrace.

The feel of skin on skin, with nothing separating them is exquisite and better than any fantasy. It draws an involuntary sigh from Octavius’s lips. Jedediah, on the other hand, is still tense, not allowing himself to feel anything.

From Octavius’s peripheral vision, he watches Jedediah blink, staring straight ahead. “Beloved, you can relax.”

“Relax, _hell!_ If ya haven’t already noticed. Relaxin’ ain’t really somethin’ I’m good at.”

“Then let me help you,” Octavius whispers against Jedediah’s lips.

Octavius begins simply. He kisses the tip of Jedediah’s nose. It gets a confused look and a grin. The skin around Jedediah’s eyes crinkle instantly. Jedediah’s laughter is full of joy and wonder. It lights his face.

Encouraged, Octavius moves back to Jedediah’s mouth, sliding closer.

He allows his hands to roam, feeling the skin of Jedediah’s back. His fingernails lightly graze across flesh. Fingertips skim over the twin dimples just above the swell of Jedediah’s rump.

Jedediah lets out a soft gasp.

Then Octavius feels a responsive grip on his back. He kisses along Jedediah’s jawline, then kisses him deeply. Pulling back, he nips gently at Jedediah’s bottom lip.

A shiver runs through Jedediah’s body that has nothing to do with the cold. He groans with pleasure. Octavius can feel Jedediah’s solid length hardening against his thigh.

Surging forward, Jedediah pulls Octavius even closer.

Octavius rolls them until Jedediah is lying on top of him. Jedediah pulls back from the kiss, shocked by the action.

“You can do anything you want,” Octavius murmurs.

Jedediah’s gaze searches Octavius’s face. Then his palm comes up to explore the soft flesh of Octavius’s belly. “I could lay my head. Right here.”

Octavius’s mouth quirks and he laughs. “Of course, my love. While I’m certain it would be intimate _and_ quite pleasing, it's not what I had in mind. I was thinking of something a little more —” He darts his head from side to side. “Engaging.”

Jedediah swallows hard, at a loss.

“Stimulating?” Octavius asks hopefully, lifting both his eyebrows. He perks up. Teasing, he grins widely and says, “Vigorous!”

He laughs, ridiculously tickled by the look on Jedediah’s face. He lifts the covers. “I’m going in.” He dives between the sheets.

Jedediah yelps, jumping. “God! What in the dad-blame world!” He lifts the blanket and peeks his head under the covers. “Hey! This ain’t no — _oh —!”_

The rest of his rant is cut short as he inhales sharply. His hands bunch around the blankets and the sleeping mat.

Octavius intended to take Jedediah’s length in hand, but he soon finds himself diverted by the warm, subtle scent of him.

It fires his nerves, and he indulges in nipping, licking, and kissing his way down Jedediah’s throat and across his chest. He runs his lips over a pectoral muscle and gets distracted by a nipple, swirling the nub with his tongue.

He is rewarded by a low groan, gooseflesh rising, and an involuntary kick of one of Jedediah’s legs.

Jedediah squirms, and Octavius pauses for a moment to make certain all is well.

“Don’t stop,” Jedediah rasps between breaths.

Octavius feels a little smug at this. Suppressing his laughter, he continues on, laying siege to the other nipple.

Jedediah arches.

Octavius uses his teeth to nip, then curls and caresses the nipple with his tongue, and Jedediah jumps with a little squeak at the attention.

There is nothing wrong with Jedediah; not that Octavius truly expected there to be. The man looks like a god with his flat stomach and finely-sculpted abs he’s earned from all his climbing and simple, honest labor. He has a body anyone would be proud to flaunt. Why he feels the compulsion to cover himself — even with his upbringing and modesty — is beyond Octavius’s comprehension.

Jedediah’s muscles are also knotted with tension.

Octavius continues his exploration and the muscles begin to unclench and loosen, quivering under his attention. He works his way down, down, wishing to explore every inch of Jedediah’s skin, closer toward the objective of his campaign.

He abruptly stops when his gaze slides the rest of the way down and he catches sight of what he’s in for. There is no doubt about it. Jedediah is...well...quite blessed.

“By the gods!” he says, popping his head from under the covers.

Jedediah abruptly startles with a gasp, sitting up. He pulls the blanket to his neck. “What, _what!”_

Octavius smiles a little too cheerfully, all teeth. “Nothing, dearest.”

Jedediah pulls him up by his short hair. “What is it! Is anything funny goin’ on down there?”

“Everything seems to be in working order. You’re just…” Octavius pauses, attempting to be delicate. “... large.”

Jedediah's face somehow burns redder. “You’ve known that for...forever!”

“Yes. But there is knowing. Then there is _knowing.”_

“Ya sure know how ta’ make a guy feel comfortable in his own skin.” Jedediah swats him, then rolls his eyes. “Never mind.” He suddenly levers himself up on his elbows and rolls onto his stomach, hiding his face. “Okay. L-lets do this.”

Taken off guard, Octavius inches back, lifting his eyebrows. “Dearest...”

“Come on! I ain’t got all night.”

Octavius shakes his head; he should have known Jedediah would be a power bottom. “You’re not being very romantic.”

“Neither are you,” Jedediah grouses. “Commenting on the size of my—”

Octavius smacks Jedediah on the backside.

With a yelp, Jedediah raises his head, twisting around to glare at him. “Hey!”

“You are not ready yet, Jedediah,” Octavius says firmly.

“I told ya I was!”

“And I _completely_ believe you.” It is said with a good dose of sarcasm. Not to mention a good deal of experience.

Jedediah frowns back at him. He bites his lip, looking worried and betrayed. “After all your chasing, you caught me, and now ya don't want me?”

The words are spoken so quietly, so vulnerably, Octavius does the only thing he can think of and presses himself against the cleft of Jedediah's rump.

A soft, surprised moan escapes Jedediah, breath quickening.

“Of course, I want you.” With a rough moan Octavius settles back, and kneels behind Jedediah, touching him now only with his breath.

And then —

It's a bold move, but Octavius’s ardor has him cupping and squeezing Jedediah's posterior.

His hands spread Jedediah open for a moment, catching sight of contracting muscles.

Frustrated, Jedediah smacks the ground with his hand. “Come on! Let’s go!”

“Sweetheart. What’s your hurry?”

Jedediah shudders as he attempts to master himself. His mouth is compressed in a hard line, but his eyes have become vulnerable once again.

“I’m losing my nerve,” he admits quietly.

“You are so tight and dry that we would both be injured if I were to do anything before I prepared you properly.” Pressing a kiss to the back of Jedediah's neck, he explains, “Now, more than ever, you must speak up about your needs,” he murmurs, lips brushing a shoulder. “Precisely as you did just now.”

He nips at Jedediah's neck, feeling a shudder move through the body beneath him. For a moment, he simply nuzzles.

“And your desires.” He lifts his hand and delivers another soft swat across Jedediah’s backside. “Say it.”

Jedediah mumbles, “Let's go.”

He squeaks as Octavius squeezes one of his cheeks, thumb brushing against his entrance. Jerking, he twists back around. “What _the hell_ are ya doin’ back there?”

Octavius pulls Jedediah tight against him and leans forward to murmur, “Those are not the right words.”

Jedediah groans as Octavius continues to rock against him, breathing heavy, before he, too, cannot help himself and ruts mindlessly against the blankets.

He growls when Octavius pulls his body away, yelping as another smack crosses his backside. “Say it, Jedediah. Tell me you are not ready.”

“Okay, okay! God, you’re bossy!”

His words earn an arched eyebrow and another soft swat. “‘Diah...”

“Alright! Alright!”

Jedediah peers behind him and blinks. The stunning blue of his eyes have gone to thin slivers, but his hands are shaking. “I ain’t ready.”

Finally, the truth.

Octavius nods his approval. “I’m glad you told me, Jedediah.” He stretches an arm behind him for his supplies. “Now permit me to do this my way and let's get you ready.”

Jedediah flops on his back. “I wanna look at you.”

Octavius shakes his head, easing him back over. “No. It will hurt more. We need to start off simply, and then build up from there. Later.”

“Bossy…” Jedediah mutters.

“In this? Yes,” Octavius agrees. “Absolutely.” He will not have Jedediah suffer discomfort anymore than necessary.

Eyes dark with desire, Octavius begins preparing him with the oil. He pours a generous amount of oil and touches Jedediah delicately with the tip of his finger.

Jedediah jumps.

Octavius places a palm on the small of his back to steady him. “It’s alright.”

He circles his finger slowly, before pressing the tip inside.

Clenching his jaw, Jedediah whispers, “This...ain’t fun.”

“It will be.” Octavius murmurs comforting words as Jedediah hisses, continuing to press inside slowly.

The tight feeling around the single digit sends a jolt straight through him, to the most intimate part of him, and he suppresses a moan, remaining focused on preparing his beloved.

He looks up to see Jedediah has turned his face toward him.

Carefully, he pumps his finger slowly. More oil follows. Jedediah winces, teeth clenching as a second finger slips in, stretching.

“I know, I know. Breathe, sweetheart.”

Jedediah lets out a shuddering breath, hands gripping the blanket beneath him.

With infinite patience and nearly all the oil, Octavius works Jedediah open for several long minutes and the pain seems to lessen. As Octavius screws his fingers and stretches him, Jedediah's mouth has fallen open, blue eyes unfocused as he pants.

A thrill shoots through Octavius when Jedediah suddenly rocks back against his fingers.

Jedediah has risen to his knees over the past few minutes. As hard as _he_ is, Octavius can see Jedediah's length hanging low and heavy between his parted legs, the head a dark red, the tip wet.

Jedediah rocks his hips back again, Octavius's fingers pressing deeper.

Octavius’s eyes snap open wide as he feels his fingers brush against muscle, only having a second before Jedediah moans loudly, his whole body convulsing. “ _Ockie_ —”

The moan breaks him. The patient, doting husband disappears in place of the passionate lover.

Octavius growls, pressing his fingers against the bundle of nerves again, lip curling as Jedediah cries out, rutting back against him.

“Ockie, baby, baby I'm gonna—”

With a quick hand, Octavius reaches under and grips Jedediah's arousal at the base.

Jedediah’s body shudders as he lets out a surprised whine.

Octavius couldn't possibly be anymore aroused. Jedediah's dominant personality has taken a backseat to Octavius's experience.

He is, at last, in control.

With fingers barely brushing the pleasurable spot, and his other hand lightly stroking and squeezing, Jedediah is kept on the edge, at his mercy.

Octavius leans over him, mouthing at his reddened ear. “Is this fun now? Does this feel good?”

Jedediah thrusts into the too loose grip of Octavius’s hand, letting out a frustrated moan. “Yeah! God, Octy, _please_!”

Octavius's fingers stroke inside of him, and he grips Jedediah hard as he gasps, body shuddering. “Well, darling, do you think you’re ready now?”

Jedediah chokes out a moan as Octavius strokes down his length just once. “Yes!”

Octavius positions the tip of his cock. He begins to push when Jedediah abruptly stiffens with a gasp and stops moving, staring straight ahead.

He is whispering urgently in another language, gaining pitch and building in volume with his pleas. _“Kee! Haamee. Haamee! Haits, haitsii! Kee, kee!”_

In distress, Jedediah collapses, the desire he’d been experiencing, vanishing instantly and completely.

Octavius follows him down, Jedediah flailing his arms. He is still speaking this _other_ language. And all at once, Octavius knows which language it is. Comanche.

“Jedediah! It’s me.”

_“Kee! Kee! Haits, haitsii!”_

Octavius grabs a hold of Jedediah’s wrists. He shakes him once. “‘Diah!”

This seems to snap Jedediah out of his memories. The focus returns to his gaze and he stops flailing. “Oct!”

“Sshhh. Sweetheart. It’s me.” He pulls Jedediah forward. Attempts to pull him forward. Jedediah will not budge. “It’s me. Only me.”

Jedediah curls into a ball. His face crumbles. “I’m so sorry!”

Octavius shushes him, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around him. “It’s alright.”

Jedediah hides his face in his hands. “I ruined everything.”

“You’ve ruined nothing.”

Jedediah’s muscles have stiffened up, no give once again. He beats his fist against the ground. Then he flings the blanket, surging up on his hands and knees. “No! We’re doin’ this!”

“Jedediah —”

“No!” Jedediah jerks away from the gentling hand. Voice cracking, he shouts, “Hop on!”

“Sweetheart, you’re not a stallion!”

“Come on!”

“No.”

Octavius lifts his hand; it is batted away.

Frustrated, Jedediah twists around. There are tears in his eyes. He jerks, pulling Octavius down on top of him, a bleakness to his gaze. His hands are shaking, the action costing him greatly.

“Doncha see? We gotta do this. _I_ gotta do this. We’re married now. And I can’t just—” He waves his hands “— _flip_ out on you every time you wanna drive. You shouldn’t feel bad about wantin’ to. I want you to. But right now, other memories are butting in where they don’t belong, where they got no business being. They’re too close to the surface and we gotta make some new memories, hoss. Right now. So, come on!”

Octavius blinks. Then, a slow smile spreads slowly across his face, much to Jedediah's confusion. “Thank you.”

Brow crinkled, Jedediah asks, “For what?”

“For explaining. That is what _I_ need. I want to understand. To help you. To please you.”

Jedediah slaps his hand against the ground. Flicking his wrist, palm up, he stares determinedly up at the ceiling. “Stick it to me.”

Octavius’s mouth thins. “That is the most unromantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You know I ain’t romantic. Not like you. And this is the only way I know to get past this. I gotta face my fears of someone else havin’ power over me.”

Octavius sighs. “You know how much I desire you. But you just had an attack. I'm not rushing you.”

He lays down next to Jedediah, proving his words to be true. He props his head up against his hand, gazing at Jedediah lovingly.

Confused, Jedediah can only stare. “Who _are_ you?”

“Your husband.”

Jedediah blinks, eyes glittering. The heartfelt claim shuts him up, finally getting through, calming him down.

“Now. We’ll start again. Slow.” Octavius kisses Jedediah's temple. “I adore being close to you like this.”

Jedediah’s brow furrows, back to wanting to fight and be difficult. “Why?”

Octavius sweeps a strand of hair from Jedediah’s forehead. “Because I love you.”

Jedediah’s mouth falls open. If there was any question in Octavius’s mind Jedediah might still be trapped in the past, and not with him at all in the here and now, his reaction to Octavius’s quiet statement of devotion diminishes those fears. Jedediah is very much with him.

“It shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise,” Octavius says softly, reasonably, tilting his head, distracted, still playing with the blond strands. “You have lovely hair,” he observes.

Jedediah gapes at him, blinking. He says nothing.

Octavius stops playing with Jedediah’s hair, propping his head back up with his hand. “Did you truly believe my pursuit has all been about my own sexual gratification? That I was toying with your emotions in order to bed you? That it was all simply a game? ‘Diah,” he breathes, exasperation in his voice. He clicks his tongue. “We’re married. _I_ married _you.”_

“I-It’s just. You never said. I thought you were just, you know, humorin’ me when I said I wanted us to get hitched first and say my vows.”

Octavius levers himself up on his hands and knees, crawling a short distance. He kneels down, parting Jedediah’s legs. “In my mind, at least, we’ve been married for a very long time. I’ve told you this in every way I know how.”

Still tense, Jedediah bends his knees. He glances from side to side. “Do ya wanna —”

“I will not have you taken from that position your first time,” Octavius announces, authority behind his words. Instead, he kisses the inside of Jedediah’s thigh, then wraps his hand around his flaccid member.

Jedediah blushes a deep pink.

Octavius takes his time to examine him. While he hadn’t meant to be, he had been in a rush before.

He notes their differences besides the obvious size. Jedediah is circumcised. He runs his thumb over the head and is rewarded with a shudder from Jedediah.

He strokes the shaft up and down, quickly restoring Jedediah to his former glory.

He hadn’t really known what he was going to do, until he lifts his eyes and captures Jedediah’s gaze.

“I have never submitted before any man.” His gaze drifts down to Jedediah’s arousal, and then slides his eyes back up. “But I will. For you. Because I love you.” He holds Jedediah’s gaze, willing him to understand the enormity of what he’s suggesting, the unspoken Roman rules he’s breaking over what he is about to do, _for him._ “Do you understand?”

Jedediah swallows hard, gaze becoming unfocused.

Lowering onto his belly, Octavius slips his arms underneath Jedediah's legs, hands coming to hold his hips.

Jedediah's cock is hard against his toned stomach. Octavius swallows, slowly leaning closer. Jedediah flinches slightly when he feels Octavius's breath against his heated skin, but his eyes are dark with an unspoken desire.

Jedediah is not one to let lust control him, but Octavius knows that he _does_ want this. If Jedediah had any erotic thoughts when Octavius was not around, the way he stares at him with anticipation now tells Octavius that he has at least thought about _this_.

He simply never believed it _could_ happen.

Taking a quiet breath, Octavius scoots his body closer. Jedediah raises up on his elbows.

This sends a thrill to his own semi-hard arousal, as he realizes Jedediah wants to watch.

His own hand trembles as he wraps his fingers around the thick base, propping it up to his lips.

Octavius closes his eyes, tongue darting out to taste. Even this is enough to have Jedediah gasp, body shuddering.

So responsive.

Finding his courage, Octavius pushes forward, tongue slipping down the underside of the head as his mouth closes softly over Jedediah.

Cultural conditioning has Octavius's face burning, but he pushes everything aside, encouraged by the harsh moan that escapes Jedediah. His head is spinning from all the different sensations he experiences at once.

Jedediah's scent arouses him. Like the rest of him, he is masculine and clean, and Octavius learns to breathe through his nose, mouth sliding down further.

Jedediah tastes just like he smells, but there is a sharp taste from the substance that leaks against his tongue from the tip. Octavius finds himself flicking his tongue, embarrassed, but surprised that he likes it. He _likes_ the way this intimate part of Jedediah throbs against his tongue.

And he's only taken mere inches of the length in his mouth, and it's too much, _too much_ , but gods, he wants more.

_“‘Tavius…”_

His jaw aches, his eyes tear up, but he’s lost in this intimate act. Jedediah writhes beneath him and he's barely done anything yet.

Where his mouth cannot reach, his hand takes up, stroking up and down as Octavius begins to lift and lower his head, licking, sucking, swallowing the best he can for the first time.

It's not over yet, and he wants to do it again.

He moans with Jedediah in his mouth, breathing hard through his nose. He finally opens his eyes, peering through a blurred gaze to find Jedediah staring at him, panting, moaning, hands clutching tight on the blankets.

“Oh, God. Oct, I love when you look at me like that.”

Octavius moans, mouth full, eyes squeezing shut as his mouth sinks down lower.

He’s too aroused by this. It's too much to submit, to trust, to love and be loved, and it's going to feel so good to do it again.

Without stopping, Octavius kneels on trembling knees, his other hand slipping down to grasp himself, shuddering.

“Baby?” Jedediah says breathlessly, with an edge of shocked, disbelieving laughter. “You like doin’ this?”

_Yes._

Octavius moans, unable to take the sudden dominance in Jedediah's voice, and strokes himself quickly.

“You're so good at this,” Jedediah pants, groaning. “Feels so _good_.”

His throat has relaxed, and he picks up speed, tightening his lips around Jedediah, tongue stroking over the head.

Through his tears he sees Jedediah's hands lift from the blankets, yearning to reach out and touch him.

Jedediah hesitates, overthinking. The hands drop.

It happens again, and Octavius wills himself to let go of himself and snakes his arm under Jedediah's leg again. He raises his head and Jedediah's cock slips from his mouth.

Jedediah groans at the loss of such an amazing feeling when Octavius's hands grip his wrists and pulls his hands forward.

Jedediah gasps, “Wha—!”

Unable to speak, Octavius places Jedediah's trembling hands on his head. He looks up, locking gazes, speaking with his eyes that he _wants_ him there, and lets go.

Jedediah immediately understands, his fingers are gentle, slipping through the dark, short locks, cock twitching against his stomach. _“Baby…”_

Octavius lowers his head to lick a stripe up Jedediah's shaft, arching a brow in challenge, catching his breath.

Cheeks red, forehead beaded with sweat, Jedediah smiles. “Yeah?”

Octavius nods, eyes gleaming.

In an unprecedented move, Jedediah lets one hand fall to hold up his cock, the head brushing the bottom of Octavius's reddened lips.

Octavius flicks his tongue against it and moves to swallow when Jedediah grunts. Bold, he holds himself away suddenly. “Uh-uh.”

Octavius’s brow furrows and Jedediah’s eyes dance. “Say it.”

Octavius’s voice rasps. “I'm not ready?”

Jedediah shakes his head, tracing the tip against Octavius's lips. “Those are your words. What are mine?’’

Octavius lets out a breath of laughter, understanding. “Let’s go.”

He gasps as Jedediah’s hand grips his hair, the other pressing himself to Octavius’s swollen parting lips, slowly, inch by inch, cold from the air against his warm, wet tongue.

They both groan loudly. Jedediah’s other hand comes up to hold Octavius's head.

Once Octavius has control of his breathing, he looks up at Jedediah through the fan of his lashes, finding him gazing at him with hunger and adoration.

Jedediah guides Octavius's head with his hands, slowly at first, establishing a rhythm, before his hips thrust up on their own accord.

Octavius resumes his pattern of licking, sucking, swallowing, even lightly grazing his teeth against the sensitive skin as Jedediah now controls their strength and speed.

Sometimes it's slow, and Octavius moans in frustration, wanting more, to Jedediah’s delight. Then it's fast, too much, Jedediah filling his mouth and he has no control as Jedediah takes his pleasure, and it makes Octavius's heart _wild_.

He fumbles, struggling, finally reaching down and stroking himself hard and fast, feeling a deep burning in his loins, moaning loudly.

Words spill from Jedediah's mouth unbidden, nonsensical phrases, thrusting hard when he suddenly pulls Octavius's mouth off of him, gripping his jaw, thumb pressing his lips open as the other hand grasps his cock and begins stroking hard and fast, twisting at the engorged head.

Jedediah is more wild than Octavius could have ever imagined, his head thrown back, stomach muscles tight. Octavius likes it. He likes this unthinking abandon.

“Oh yeah, my baby likes this. So good, Ockie, so good—’’

Octavius knows what is about to happen, wanting it to happen, unable to do anything but rut into his own hand and open his mouth for his best friend and lover and moan, “‘Diah!”

“Oh God, baby, baby! _Ungh!”_

Octavius's eyes squeeze shut as Jedediah lets out a ragged moan, his whole body tensing as he feels Jedediah’s hot release splash across his face, neck, and tongue.

Jedediah’s hand slip from his jaw, body slumping against the blankets.

Octavius lets go of himself, still achingly hard, and follows him down.

Attentive, he sweeps the sweat-dampened hair from Jedediah's eyes. Then he leans back and grabs one of the cloths from the wooden box. Wetting it with water, he wipes himself clean, then proceeds to do the same to Jedediah.

Jedediah lifts his head, but he is pliant, relaxed. He watches Octavius in awe and reverence, and closes his eyes when Octavius leans down to kiss his forehead and his cheek, humming softly when Octavius presses his lips to his mouth.

“My love.”

Their kiss is slow and sweet, contrasting sharply with their shenanigans from moments before.

“I think I got a little carried away,” Jedediah murmurs once they pull back from each other.

“You were unbridled. Passionate. I have no complaints.”

Jedediah peers at him. His gaze is loving. Glancing down, he stills. “You never got to…”

“I was taken by surprise,” he says warmly, bumping his nose against Jedediah's. “My little church mouse has a wild side.”

Jedediah colors, and clears his throat. “Sorry.”

Octavius kisses his temple. “You were wonderful. Glorious.”

Jedediah ducks his head, hiding his face against Octavius's neck. “You weren’t so bad yourself. Took me completely by surprise,” he mumbles.

They hold each other, quiet and content. Octavius is still painfully aroused, but he wants this moment of quiet tenderness just as much.

His eyes drift shut when he feels Jedediah’s fingers lightly skim the length of his cock.

Octavius shivers, eyes opening, lips parting.

Jedediah gazes at him with soft blue eyes, expression vulnerable. He shifts closer to Octavius and presses a kiss to his lips.

Octavius wraps his arm around Jedediah, holding him close. They spend the next few minutes exchanging soft, damp kisses, licking languidly into each other's mouths.

He feels Jedediah's soft member begin to stir against his leg.

Octavius pulls back. No one could ever question Jedediah’s stamina, or his determination. Voice low, he asks, “Do you wish to try again?”

Jedediah bites his lip, and then nods. “Yeah...” Slowly, he props himself up on his knees and elbows.

Octavius guides him back down, stroking a hand across his body. “Let us try another position.”

Jedediah throws him a look. “How many are there?”

Octavius’s eyes gleam, but he only laughs, kissing Jedediah once. “I adore you.”

Jedediah allows Octavius to roll him to lie on his side. Octavius follows him, pressing close. Slowly, he presses Jedediah's outer leg forward.

With the remaining oils, he quickly prepares him, working him open again. Jedediah's body is much more relaxed this time, and in minutes he has found Jedediah's sweet spot.

He takes pleasure in watching Jedediah's lewd expressions, feeling him rock back against his fingers slowly. He sees Jedediah harden once more, but refrains from touching for now.

He slips his fingers out gently, and Jedediah moans at the sudden loss.

“Patience, my love.” Octavius whispers roughly as he uses the very last of the oil to slick himself, before coming to lie down behind Jedediah again.

He slips his arm underneath Jedediah's head, his elbow cradling his neck, letting his fingers get lost in the blond locks of hair.

He gently turns Jedediah's head towards him, kissing him, pouring all his love and devotion into it. Does Jedediah know what he is letting Octavius do? How much it means to him?

Their lips part. Jedediah is gazing at him, so close he can see the light in his eyes.

Without looking away, Octavius grasps himself, watching Jedediah's face as he presses the head of his cock against Jedediah's entrance.

He is slow. So very patient. Octavius presses in and Jedediah winces. He murmurs comforting words as he slips inside slowly, already dizzy from the lightning-like pleasure of the tight heat surrounding him. He knows he prepared Jedediah well, and that he may not have his love’s endowment, but there would be initial pain regardless.

Octavius kisses him, distracting him. “Do you know why I love this position?”

Jedediah swallows, shaking his head once. “No.”

At last, Octavius has slid all the way in, his body flush against Jedediah's. He kisses him deeply, groaning into his mouth as he slips his other arm under Jedediah's leg, hand under his knee, lifting it up.

Jedediah gasps, breaking the kiss, panting.

“I love it because I get to look at you.”

Jedediah's eyes shine. “Oct...”

They kiss softly once before Jedediah whispers against his lips, “I'm ready.”

They hold each other's gaze as Octavius begins moving his hips, sliding out slowly, before pressing back in, making them both moan.

The oil makes Octavius's cock drag easily in and out of Jedediah, but his walls still grip him blissfully tight.

He keeps his momentum slow at first, watching Jedediah's face relax in pleasure. Octavius pulls his body back against him more, kissing him passionately, tasting him, nipping sweetly, and then harder as he rocks faster.

His head dips down to flick his tongue over Jedediah's nipple, biting softly.

Jedediah throws his head back, moaning loudly, and Octavius takes it as an opportunity to kiss and bite Jedediah’s neck and throat.

He lets go of Jedediah’s leg and let's it fall, gripping Jedediah's hip as he suddenly makes his thrusts harder and shorter, going slower, smiling, gaze dark as Jedediah's mouth falls open, eyes wide as he stares at Octavius.

Octavius is at his neck again, sucking, placing a love mark onto Jedediah's lovely pale skin that will be gone by tomorrow when Jedediah finds his voice again.

“O-Oct!”

Octavius grins against his skin, continuing to nip there. “Mm-hmm?”

“Feels… good, _ah!”_

Octavius can't help it as a groan escapes him, pulling out almost all the way, biting his lip as he hears Jedediah moaning his desire, before pushing hard and fast back inside. “Yes, it does, darling.”

“Oh, God, Ockie!”

Octavius turns Jedediah's head towards him, his hungry gaze taking in the shining, stunning blue eyes, lips red and swollen from their kisses.

Jedediah is so perfect and beautiful, and he is _his._

“Tell me what you want,” Octavius pants, still thrusting slowly, body growing hotter by the second.

He reaches down to wrap his hand around Jedediah’s throbbing, leaking cock, and grips it hard. “Tell me.”

“ _Ohh…_ ” Jedediah groans, eyes squeezing shut. “You. F-faster!”

“Faster?” Octavius growls, hips snapping quicker, moaning in Jedediah's ear.

Jedediah clenches tight around him and he shudders. “Oh, oh, baby, harder—!”

“Yes, ‘Diah, yes love!” Pounding harder, the fire inside him burns higher.

Jedediah reaches back, hand grasping the small of Octavius’s back and hip, gripping hard as Octavius thrusts into him.

He moans, keening as Octavius releases his cock for a moment to run his hand over Jedediah’s body, feeling the quivering muscles of his stomach, lightly pinching a nipple, splaying his hand over where Jedediah’s heart is beating wildly in his chest for _him_.

His hand slides back down quickly over the light trail of hair to grasp Jedediah’s shaft, stroking fast enough to make Jedediah’s moans fill their tent, before slowing down.

A smug smile spreads across his face when Jedediah lets out a frustrated groan. “Ya ain't making this easy on me!”

Octavius’s own cock had slipped out of Jedediah, and he grips himself for a moment to position again before sliding back in, whispering with a shuddering breath, “What can I say? It is so fun to tease you.”

Before Jedediah can protest or berate him, Octavius kisses him passionately, his movements picking up speed again. There is only so much teasing that _his_ own body can take.

He closes his eyes, the pleasure in his body taking over as he thrusts and pounds, taking and pleasing his stunning husband for as long as he can before —

“Baby,” Jedediah sobs, body shaking, thrusting erratically into Octavius's stroking hand. “Baby, I-I can't hold on. I need ta, I'm gonna—”

Octavius moans, his hand tightening, thumb slipping over the slick head of Jedediah’s cock.

“Let go. I've got you. ‘Diah, I love you!”

Jedediah arches against him, throwing his head back —

“Oct... _‘Tavius!_ ”

“‘Diah! ‘Diah, _oh how I love you_!”

Lightning flashes in Octavius’s eyes as he feels Jedediah spilling hot into his hand, his entire body clenching tight against and around Octavius, the final push into that exquisite heat sending him over the edge —

The fire roars through his body, their moans fading into silence as the lightning bursts into fireworks as his vision goes dark.

* * *

_Moments later…_

He comes to.

Octavius blinks slowly, gasping for air.

His arms are wrapped tight around Jedediah.

His beautiful, wonderful, beloved Jedediah.

Jedediah faces away from him, but Octavius can hear him breathing hard, can feel his sweaty, shivering body cooling against his own.

Feeling Octavius move, Jedediah turns his head just enough to look at him, still panting.

Octavius places a tender kiss to Jedediah’s warm shoulder, nuzzling sweetly.

Chest still heaving, body shuddering, Octavius slowly slips himself out of Jedediah. Unable to resist, he gently palms Jedediah's cheeks open for a moment. His heart pounds.

Jedediah is his now. Claimed. His virginity taken. By him.

Jedediah moves to rise, but barely raises an inch before he winces and groans, laying back down. Octavius skims his cleaner hand down Jedediah’s body, comforting him. “Sshhh…relax.”

He quickly cleans his hands and softened member before attending to Jedediah with a fresh, damp cloth. He does his best to be gentle and quick as he washes him clean of the oil and his release, feeling him squirm in discomfort, sensitive.

When Octavius is done he tosses the rag to the side and blindly grasps for their blanket, finding it and pulling it over them. Jedediah eases himself onto his back and Octavius lays beside him on his side.

Octavius swipes the sweat-dampened hair from Jedediah’s face as Jedediah slowly climbs back down from their coupling.

Pride in his eyes, Octavius leans down and kisses him softly on the lips, whispering against his mouth. “We did it!”

Jedediah stops panting, struck by these simple words. He stares up into Octavius’s gaze. The skin around his eyes crinkle. “We did it,” he repeats in awe.

Octavius launches forward, taking Jedediah in his arms. Jedediah’s arms curl around his neck, bringing him closer.

“We’re married.” It seems to be Jedediah’s catchphrase of the evening. “We’re _married!”_

There is so much happiness in this simple statement.

Jedediah’s giddiness tickles Octavius, and he laughs.

Back to the ever doting husband, he cannot help but stare in wonder over the night’s events, committing the sight of his beloved, like _this,_ thoroughly debauched, to memory. His eyes dart, caressing Jedediah’s face with his gaze.

“You’re my husband,” he blurts as though he cannot quite believe his good fortune. He cannot.

Jedediah rolls his head, and smiles softly. His hand comes up, but exhaustion pulls his hand down. Not bashfulness or frustration with himself, but simple, honest exhaustion.

He bites his lip, suddenly self-conscious. His fists clench and unclench around his blanket.

“Was I…” His gaze is vulnerable and heartbreakingly insecure. “Was I any good?”

Octavius pulls back slightly, a tenderness welling up inside him, and he goes back to fussing with Jedediah’s hair, combing through the damp strands, an enormous, happy, thoroughly satisfied smile plastered to his face.

“Beyond my wildest fantasies. Worth waiting for. There is no trading up for you now.” He shakes his head, realizing he may be gushing, less than regal, and does not care. “I won’t go. I’m never going away.”

Pleased and bashful at the same time, Jedediah ducks his head.

_His husband._

A beatific smile spreads across Jedediah’s mouth and he buries his suddenly heated face against the side of Octavius’s neck. “Reckon I’ll have to keep you, then. No take-backs.”

Octavius agrees. “None.”

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius fades in and out of sleep.

He feels Jedediah in his arms, and later against his back, holding him close. Jedediah's hand finds its place over Octavius’s chest, feeling his heartbeat.

When he awakens, the artificial sun has returned, shining a soft light inside the tent.

Closing his eyes, Octavius hums and lifts his hand, searching, and only finds a cool, empty blanket.

Jedediah is not lying beside him.

Octavius lifts his head, spotting him sitting in a corner of their tent, writing in his journal.

He is mostly dressed again, wearing his trousers and boots. His neckerchief is still off, and his white shirt is unbuttoned and open, letting Octavius see his gloriously toned chest and abdomen in the daylight.

Octavius smiles, sighing in appreciation.

Jedediah looks up, closing his journal softly. He grins shyly at Octavius. “Hey, you,” he whispers.

Octavius sits up, running a hand through his hair before he stretches an arm out, beckoning him to come closer.

Slowly, like a skittish animal, Jedediah comes to kneel beside him. He tries to hide it, but Octavius notices the small wince he makes as he eases down.

It is the next evening and Jedediah shouldn’t be feeling any discomfort at all.

“How are you feeling?” Octavius asks quietly, placing a hand on Jedediah's shoulder.

Jedediah's cheeks tinge a soft pink, but he shrugs. “Got a little hitch in my giddyup.”

Octavius blinks, watching him, concerned.

Jedediah bites his lip, glancing down. “Might just be memory, though. Expected it to be there, I reckon. I'm alright.” He clears his throat. “How about you?’’

Octavius wants to say, _I want to relive our night all over again._

Lulled by Jedediah’s nearness, his warmth, Octavius cups the back of Jedediah’s head, burying his hand in his hair, pulling him down, pressing against him, hinting his desires.   

Jedediah allows himself to be brought down, humming into their kiss. Octavius’s fingers play, working their way inside Jedediah’s open shirt.

Jedediah’s breath comes fast. His heavy breaths are exquisite, and he jerks his lips away momentarily.

He pulls at the sleeves of his white shirt, shouldering his way out of it. His arms curve to wrap around Octavius, pulling him closer.

They move together, actions steady with promise.

Octavius is just unbuttoning Jedediah’s trousers, when he hears —

_“Jed!”_

They jolt, startled, breaking their kiss, glancing at the tent flap, confused.

Octavius’s lip automatically curls. He lifts his gaze. _Silas..._ It would have to be Silas interrupting their newly wedded bliss.

There is the sound of tromping footsteps outside, and the snap of vegetation. _“Jed, where the hell are ya?”_

Thrust back to reality, they both look around in a panic, scrambling, before Jedediah flings the blanket over Octavius’s nude body.

He quickly covers his own bare chest with their second blanket just as the tent flap is stretched aside.

Felix pokes his head in. “My liege! Praise the gods, I am so happy we found you!”

Jedediah burrows deeper in his blankets, crouched forward uncomfortably, beet red, while Octavius glares, covering as much of Jedediah’s body as he can, yanking his own blanket across Jedediah’s shoulders.

His beloved’s need for modesty outweighs his own even though he is still entirely nude.

“Wait a _minute_ ,” Silas mutters, coming up fast behind Felix, the cogs turning. “Jed, you look like you’ve lived through a damn rodeo. And you,” he points at Octavius, who lifts his chin regally. “Well. You're always runnin’ around half-naked, but _this_ …”

The awkward silence that fills the tent is palpable.

The silence stretches for five more heartbeats.

Silas draws in a sharp breath.

“ _Aw, hell!”_ he groans, tone a little high-pitched, posture abruptly tense. Red-faced, he throws his arms in the air, scrambling, backpedaling, covering his eyes with his hands and, stumbling out of the tent. “Son of a gun!”

Octavius quirks an eyebrow, hearing Silas kicking dirt, performing a solitary Texas two-step outside. “Dad-gum-it all! I need me some brain bleach!”

“So, how was it?” Felix asks cheerfully, clasping his hands together.

Jedediah groans, attempting to hide his face, nearly purple with embarrassment, and Octavius silences the young man with a stern look that cannot quite hide the gleam in his eyes.

Felix beams, twisting his body, hands clasped in front of him. “It is truly a momentous occasion!”

Before Jedediah can melt into the ground, Octavius clears his throat, steeling his gaze into one of absolute authority. “You two must have information of some import to interrupt us the evening after our consummation.”

Octavius can still hear Silas squawking, dancing around outside, spurs clicking. Screaming noises are coming from his throat.

Octavius would feel smug if it wasn’t for his beloved’s mortification over being caught in the act. The tips of Jedediah’s ears are red and he hasn’t made a peep.

Fussing, he first cups Jedediah’s jaw, then swipes at his hair, lovingly and reassuringly tucking it behind Jedediah’s ear.

Jedediah’s breath catches. He ducks his head and swats repeatedly at Octavius’s hand, finding an easy outlet for his embarrassment.

“Not now!” he loudly protests. “We got company!”

Octavius grins, unconcerned. “We are married. The others are simply going to have to grow accustomed to witnessing my spontaneous bouts of affection toward you.” He brushes Jedediah’s bangs from his eyes. Meaningfully and without jest, he lifts both his eyebrows and announces, “You, too.”

Jedediah’s blue eyes flare wide. He stares blinking, bottom lip protruding, gaze hovering somewhere between deathly mortified and profoundly pleased.

They are brought out of their discourse by Felix quietly clearing his throat.

Once Felix has Octavius’s attention, he lifts his chin, pride once again showing in his eyes. “My liege, we came to inform you—”

There is a scandalized scream from outside. It is ignored.

Happiness in his gaze, Felix begins bouncing on his toes. “Oh, it is so glorious! It is your second in line.” His hands curl into tight, excited fists. Overjoyed, he wrings his hands. “Sweet Pea. All the booms from the celebration seem to have jarred her and set matters into motion. She is in labor at long last!”

Jedediah perks up. Clawing his way up from his embarrassed state, he beams and excitedly announces, “Whatever pops out of her, boy or girl, we’re namin’ ‘em Yankee Doodle!”

Felix jerks his head back, speechless and aghast.

Octavius simply blinks. Mouth open, he shakes his head. Jedediah and his ridiculous-sounding names.

At least this is par for the course and means Jedediah is bouncing back.

Abruptly, he pulls Jedediah forward, kissing him full on the mouth in front of Felix, their Gods, and anyone who cares to witness it. “We’ll talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special shout-out goes to my super mega awesome power beta, [CuriousDinosaur.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur)
> 
> Also, please note, we are no longer drifting into uncharted waters. We are drowning in them. 
> 
> As my beta has known for a very long time, I am not your typical slash writer. I have my most fun plotting, working on characterizations, and comedy. I prefer my physically intimate scenes to be imagined and "off screen" and am nearly physically incapable of writing these scenes as I prefer not to read them. It is a deeply personal choice.
> 
> However, I also realize this is not the case with all readers to prefer this, or writers, and my beta graciously offered to write the boys getting down and dirty. The consummation in this chapter was written by [CuriousDinosaur.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) If you love the writing, please show her some love. Personally, I think her writing interweaves beautifully into the story and we both worked hard at getting our two unique voices to flow and blend naturally together. Also, her writing nearly scorched my eyeballs in our attempts.
> 
> She also wanted me to remind everyone: "Wear protection. Wrap it before you tap it."
> 
> Love you [CuriousDinosaur.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) You make me laugh and you're an amazing writer. Thank you. ♥
> 
> And as always, all mistakes are my own.


	25. The Honeymooners

_Only slightly later…_

Jedediah quickly turns to the wall of the tent. He shrugs on his crumpled white shirt, attempting to rescue his dignity.

Octavius’s mouth is set in a neutral line over the abrupt intrusion to their privacy, but then he takes in the sight of Jedediah, rumpled, and that still happy telltale gleam returns to his eyes.

Reaching around his beloved, he gives him an affectionate squeeze, nuzzling his neck. “Are you alright?” he asks, keeping his voice low, needing to be certain.

“Just dandy,” Jedediah says sarcastically, rolling his head.

Abruptly, he turns his gaze. His eyes meet Octavius's from under his bangs; his blond stubble catches the light.

Unable to keep from blushing over having gotten caught on only their second night as a married couple, he exhales sharply and dips his chin.

After a brief pause, he looks up through his lashes and manages to give Octavius a reassuring half smile. His voice quiets.

“I ain’t right now, but I will be. Reckoned it’d happen sooner or later. Everybody was gonna find out eventually, but I wish we coulda gotten a little more time to get settled into this whole marriage thing. Suppose it’s for the best that it happened when it did.”

He huffs out a breath and rests his hands on his waist, dropping his head for a moment before bringing his gaze back.

“Since there’s been gambling and a lot riding on this bettin’ pool, and all.”

Octavius’s eyes dance. He may never stop smiling.

Chuckling at the sly look in his beloved’s gaze, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He fists the back of Jedediah's shirt, thumb stroking lightly against his spine. The wagers have been a terribly guarded secret for some time. Nevertheless, Jedediah’s good humor about it is a relief.

They both turn their heads at the sound of the still-traumatized whoops coming from Silas.

Jedediah's eyebrows shoot up. He jerks his thumb. “Reckon he lost.”

Abruptly tickled, Octavius snorts, beaming on the inside. They share a private smile.

Octavius bumps his forehead against Jedediah’s temple, and then leans his head on his shoulder.

A moment later, Jedediah pulls back and waves the noises away. “Ol’ Silas’ll be fine.”

“Pity.” Unapologetic, Octavius is rather pleased over the cowboy’s reaction to both his nudity and the realization that he and Jedediah are now a mated pair. He sweeps a hand down the length of his own body. “I was considering walking around in a state of undress all of the time.”

“Oct…” Jedediah chastises, voice casual.

“I prefer to be naked,” Octavius reiterates with a sniff. His eyes dart.

Jedediah’s body is still turned as he works on fastening his buttons all the way to his neck. “Put down the measuring stick. He ain’t that bad and you know it.”

Octavius harrumphs simply out of the desire to be contrary, but his lips twitch up slightly. His face breaks into a wide grin.

_He and Jedediah are married!_

Once presentable, Jedediah turns around and hastily helps restore Octavius to his military best whilst Felix and Silas continue waiting for them outside the tent.

Octavius watches Jedediah work, first pulling the tunic back over Octavius’s head; adjusting the yellow cloth, just so; and then putting his armor together piece by glorious piece.

With no small amount of pride, he observes that Jedediah has gotten remarkably adept at dressing him and wonders precisely when that happened.

He finds he still cannot take his eyes from him and grins.

Then his mind turns to the matter at hand and he grows serious, jerking to attention.

“You truly do not wish to name our grandchild _Yankee Doodle,_ do you?”

Jedediah pauses, soft, speculative amusement in his gaze. “It’s patriotic. And the timing’s right.”

Octavius arches an incredulous eyebrow.

Pursing his mouth, Jedediah asks, “You got any better ideas?”

Octavius perks up, hands framing Jedediah’s hips. It would seem he cannot stop touching him either. He shrugs one shoulder. “Perhaps, Amandus, or Ocellus, or Deliciae?”

Jedediah pauses again.

Eyebrows shooting up, he appears just as disbelieving. “Seriously? You wanna name our grandchild _Darling_ in Latin?”

Octavius nods, puffing out his chest. He sniffs, head held high. “Either of those is a fine Roman name.”

Jedediah frowns, bottom lip protruding slightly. “But —” his eyes dart “— that’s _my_ name.”

Octavius inwardly lights up even before the gleam in his eyes reappears. It is followed by a ridiculous smile, expression coy. He tilts his head. “I have endured sharing the same endearment with our eldest for years. It is only fitting that you share a namesake with one of our own also.”

Jedediah squints, working his jaw. He folds his arms over his chest. “So. You’re talking payback here.”

With exaggerated slowness, Octavius leans in. “I like the names. Truly.”

Awareness crackles to life over how close they are standing. It sends a hot spike of anticipation through him. Fantastic images from the evening before overwhelm him for a moment and he wishes to kiss the stubborn line from Jedediah’s mouth.

He exhales and removes his hands from Jedediah’s hips. They will have time for dalliance later.

His expression still remains doe-eyed.

Jedediah smacks him on the arm to get his attention.

And then he falters, breath catching. His expression is a little uneasy around the edges. “Oh my God.”

Octavius frowns. “What is it?”

“It’s just that...” Jedediah brings his eyes up, biting his knuckles. It just really...hit me, ya know?” His eyes bulge in wonderment, face clouding over. He spreads his arms wide. “We’re gonna be grandparents!”

Octavius stoops down, outwardly calm.

Grabbing Jedediah’s neckerchief from the ground, he snaps the wrinkles free and gingerly loops it around Jedediah’s neck where it belongs, tying it back in place.

He pats Jedediah’s chest once, flicking his eyes up. His voice is rumbly. “Glorious, isn’t it?”

A hint of a smile curves Jedediah’s mouth. The spark of happiness flickers out of existence a moment later. His brows knit together.

He rolls his head in confusion. “How did this even happen?”

Octavius arches an eyebrow. He shifts out of easy reach before Jedediah can smack his arm and is surprised when Jedediah does not make a spirited attempt.

Jedediah is oblivious to the teasing, still talking. “I mean. We just got married.” Jedediah makes an uncertain, nervous sound, shaking his head. He says uncomfortably, in a low voice intended only for Octavius's ears. “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

Emotion surges through Octavius, soft and warm. His eyes find Jedediah’s. “Believe me, ‘Diah. You’ll do fine. It’s me you have to worry about.” He places his hands on Jedediah’s arms, and says, “Now. Deep breath?”

Jedediah breathes in through his nose. He unhurriedly blows it out.

“Again.”

Jedediah complies.

Octavius cups Jedediah’s face. His thumb roves back and forth, following the curve of Jedediah's cheek. “Ready?”

Eyes steady, Jedediah lets out an explosive breath and nods. In complete opposition to his body language, he says, “No.”

Octavius takes the ambiguous statement in stride, giving him a wink.

Jedediah presses his lips together until they turn white.

Lifting the tent flap, Octavius gallantly gestures for Jedediah to go first and they depart.

* * *

_Only slightly later…_

They cross through town, sprinting past well-wishers waving their hats and the thunderous applause from the Romans already situated within the diorama.

There is so much cheering Octavius wonders if this applause is due entirely to the upcoming birth of their grandchild or whether the news of their nuptials has already spread.

Since wagers are involved, anything is possible.

They race toward the corral and see Sweet Pea restlessly pacing back and forth, only to lie down.

Getting back up, she snorts, alarmed.

After a few more nervous paces around the corral, she lies down once more.

Whinnying shrilly, she is, indeed, in labor. Her water has broken, which is evidenced by the damp ground all around her.

She sweats, tail swishing. Her muscles ripple as she whips her long neck to bite at her sides in displeasure.

Perking up, she neighs her upset at the sight of Jedediah.

“We’re here, we’re here,” he calls, waving his arms.

Sweet Pea’s ears flick in annoyance. She shakes her heavy head as though to say: _What took you so long?_

Baby stands outside the diorama, fretting. She rumbles nervously, bending her neck sharply toward the speeding foursome. Then she goes back to fretting, moving her tiny arms, tail straight.

Assassin grunts outside the fence and hops on his front legs like a dutiful dog awaiting his masters. He cocks his little brown head, sniffing the air with his wet nose and oinks.

Biscuit has been separated from Sweet Pea in another corral. Tail lifted, he shoulders the fence, strutting proudly, prancing quickly around the outer edge in circles.

Nonplussed, Octavius narrows his eyes at the stallion. By his own reckoning, the parading steed looks like a flamboyant pigeon. Nevertheless, he restrains himself from curling his lip. Regardless of his own opinions or wishes, the steed is, after all, the hellbeast’s chosen.

He will not admit this out loud.

They race to the edge of the fence line, heaving in great gulps of air. Jedediah ducks under the barrier, the frontier doctor and veterinarian in him taking over.

Octavius clutches the fence’s railing and calls, “What do you need?”

Jedediah points. “Stay with Baby. Keep her calm.” He glances over his shoulder. “I’m gonna wait and see if Sweet Pea can do this on her own. It’s healthier for her and the foal if she can, but I’ll help out if I see she needs me to. Crowding her right now will just get her nervous and make her think something’s wrong.”

Octavius nods. He turns his head, shifting his focus to Baby. “Very well.”

* * *

_Later..._

While some horses give birth standing up, it is rare. So Jedediah has the hellbeast lie on her side once more.

A couple of times she gets back up, antsy, but then lies back down, and rolls.

A whitish-colored bubble appears behind her, the foal’s front feet emerging, still inside of the amniotic sac.

Baby takes one peek and her eyeless skull lifts to the ceiling.

She lets out a breathy rumble, loses all control of her neck, and begins falling back in a dead faint.

Mayans scatter as she crashes into the restored bench with a loud **_BOOM._ **

Half of the bench is crushed instantly. The other half goes spinning, screeching across the hall.

It hits the opposite wall, spraying splinters of wood half the length of the corridor.

The entire floor vibrates.

For a moment, a blizzard of dust motes, wood chips, and sharp, flying debris made up of jagged board pieces make it difficult to see anything.

Octavius holds his breath against the sudden cloud of dust and waves his hand to clear the air around him. Then he turns, searching for Jedediah.

Jedediah raises his head up over the top of Sweet Pea’s shoulders. “What in the dad-blame world?”

Biscuit turns to peer at Baby.

The town turns to peer at Baby.

All the miniatures turn to peer at Baby.

The larger creatures outside the _Hall of Miniatures_ angle their spines, crane their necks back, peeking around corners to peer at the downed dinosaur.

The Huns enter from the opposite hallway, stepping their furred boots cautiously around the splintered remains of the bench, giving it a wide berth.

The hellbeast puffs and blows out her nose, snorting and panting loudly. Not enthused, she glances between her two fathers, and then snaps her tail. She shakes her head from side to side over her sister upstaging her and stealing the spotlight yet again.

She neighs unhappily.

“I got this,” Jedediah calls, waving his hand toward Baby. “Go!”

Octavius nods once. He tilts his head, sparing the hellbeast a look of empathy, but then the twins arrive, sober. They saunter up to help Jedediah and Sweet Pea.

Each gripping their belts, they cock their hips, nodding at Octavius.

With a breath of relief, Octavius jumps down, landing in a deep crouch, to be with their other daughter as she is clearly not handling the miracle of birth well.

Baby rolls her head, insensate, but lifts her head at Octavius’s approach. She opens her vast jaws and mewls softly.

“There, there, Poppet. There, there,” Octavius soothes, brushing his palm against dry bone. “Daddy’s here. All will be well.” He glances up and lifts his voice. “How are matters progressing?”

Octavius can just make out Jedediah’s reply.

_“The soles of the forefeet are facing down. That's a good sign! Means the foal is in the correct birthing position. But it's slow going right now!”_

From his vantage point, Octavius can only hear the birth. Although, he gets a running commentary from Silas.

 _“Ol’ Jed’s got a hold of the shoulders!”_ and _“Nope! The hooves just slipped back inside! Slipp'ry little sucker!”_

Octavius rolls his eyes.

Silas continues: _“Good Lord, son. What's that!”_ and _“Uh, Jed? Is that normal?”_

Octavius can hear the first-time mother’s annoyed, nervous whinny. Her opinion of the running commentary is not favorable.

Doc saunters over toward the edge, dirt and sand flecking off his boots. He bends down, hands on his thighs. _“It’s normal,”_ he drawls, reassuring both Silas and Octavius of this fact.

Octavius unclasps his paludamentum and fans Baby, waving the cloth back and forth.

He can just make out, _“That’s my girl. Push!”_ from Jedediah.

Sweet Pea whinnies.

Octavius bites his lip, a bundle of nerves wanting to see what is happening.

 _“I got hooves!”_ Jedediah calls.

Octavius can just make out the soothing lilt as Jedediah encourages the hellbeast.

Silas peeks over the side of the diorama. He cups his hand around his mouth and calls, _“We got a head!”_

Felix hurries over to the edge, kicking up dirt and sand. He shouts down in a reverent voice, _“My liege! There’s a head!”_

Octavius’s grin turns lopsided.

Doc, Silas, and Felix crane their necks around to watch the delivery.

Baby rumbles at Octavius, fixing her eyeless sockets on him. Reassuringly, Octavius smiles and stops fanning her. He strokes her ridged brow.

She nuzzles his hand, warm breath puffing out between her teeth.

“It’s alright,” Octavius says, reassuring her. His breath catches repeatedly in his breast, throat tightening in anticipation. Wishing he could be in two places at once, he soothes, “You’re going to be an aunt.”

Attila crouches down, murmuring to the dinosaur in his own tongue. The others crowd over, stroking her skull. She whines at them.

Octavius glances up, amused and appreciative.

From on high, Jedediah shouts, praising Sweet Pea while she takes a moment to rest and regain her strength. _“That’s my girl!”_

 _“My God!”_ Silas shouts, body twisted to watch the proceedings. _“Now...now that’s...that’s disgusting!”_

There is a sharp whinny, and then Jedediah shouts, _“Yankee Doodle is breathing!_ _He’s a boy!”_

Attila’s smile stretches from ear to ear. He extends his hand for Octavius to hitch a ride within his palm to see the new colt. Octavius grins, taking it gratefully.

Giving Baby one final pat, he corrects Jedediah, “Amandus!”

Attila sets his hand down at the edge of the diorama. Octavius hops off, feeling his sandals touch the hardened, sun scorched earth of the Old West.

Jedediah saunters over with a wet bundle in his arms, his white shirt ruined forever. His eyes glow. He grins, his long face going soft, shooting Octavius a teasing look. “I’d like ya to meet Yankee Doodle!”

Octavius smiles back, his mouth twisting in amusement. He lifts both of his eyebrows. “You are not naming our grandchild Yankee Doodle.”

“Watch me, kemosabe!”

Very gently Jedediah sets the colt down, keeping him well away from the edge.

Octavius has been a grandfather before. It had not turned out well. He shakes his head, clearing his mind of the past, focusing entirely on the present.

The newborn stands on shaky legs, still getting his bearings. The colt staggers, legs trembling, wobbling back and forth, but remains upright.

When he gets too close to the edge, Jedediah herds him back.

The colt’s coloring is precisely like his mother’s, with the exception of a starburst marking on his forehead. Jedediah points. “See! Yankee Doodle! He’s even got a little firework goin’ off on his head!” He swings his fist in the air. “He’s a patriot, doggone it.”

“It’s a shooting star. The soul of Caesar,” Octavius supplies. “I had an image of my great uncle erected with a flaming comet affixed to its forehead.” He lifts his chin grandly. “A star that would burn forever. It is decided. The steed is Roman.”

Jedediah rests his fists on his hips. “A house divided against itself cannot stand!”

Octavius lifts both his eyebrows again, nonplussed. “Then we ought to be grateful _Ocellus_ isn’t a house.”

Jedediah cocks his hip. “I ain’t helping raise a reincarnated Julius Caesar, Oct.”

Octavius meets Jedediah’s gaze squarely. “It will go better this time. You are here.”

The heartfelt confession silences Jedediah for the moment. His eyes shine even as his mouth compresses into neutrality. He toes the dirt with his boot.

“He’s beautiful,” Octavius says at last.

Jedediah’s eyes flick to the newborn colt, grinning widely as the foal already begins to take his first steady steps.

The foal kicks his back legs experimentally and hops, promptly falling over.

The newborn rocks back and forth for a few moments, hooves kicking, then rolls to his feet and clomps over to Sweet Pea. The baby nuzzles his mother’s belly, rooting around to nurse.

Octavius lifts his arms. He turns to find the Huns, the Americans, and the Romans all watching him. He looks to the surrounding faces. “I have a grandson.”

The Romans lift their fists and cheer.

The Mayans and the Americans stare blankly at one another.

Baby rumbles, swiveling her head to Jedediah. She mewls.

Taken aback, Jedediah blinks, spares a glance at Octavius, and then hops down to be with her as Octavius takes over watching the new addition to their family and keeping him from following his grandfather.

The colt separates from the hellbeast and hops around on his front hooves.

Octavius turns his head and watches Jedediah quietly hold conference with the dinosaur. Jedediah whispers to her and she replies back with a coo and a rumble.

At last, after a few minutes of back and forth, Jedediah cups his hands around his mouth and calls up into the Old West. _“Hey, baby!”_

Octavius’s brow crinkles. It never ceases to surprise and amaze him how he knows precisely who Jedediah’s talking to at any given moment. He looks between Jedediah and their child. “Yes, love?”

Jedediah’s eyes slide to Octavius. _“Seems like all this birthin’s been too much of a strain. Baby's decided. He's a boy now!”_

Octavius blinks, startled. Face carefully blank, he thinks about this, flipping the matter over from all sides. Turning back to the Huns, Americans, Mayans, and the Romans, he spreads his arms wide. Taking matters in stride, he announces, “I have a son!”

Attila and the Huns cheer, pumping their fists. Celebrating, they each turn to their brothers and bump their chests together.

The Romans stare blankly, and then tilt their heads. There is a few seconds of delay, and then they lift their hands and their voices once more in wild applause.

The Mayans blink, and the Americans toss their Stetsons and bonnets up into the air.

Octavius turns at the sharp whinny from Sweet Pea as Baby, once again steals her thunder. Ringo pats her. Such is the way of siblings.

* * *

_Later…_

They are still arguing about the name of their grandchild as night ticks toward morning.

Ensconced in their tent, Octavius takes his time unbuttoning and removing Jedediah’s clean blue shirt from his finely muscled shoulders.

“Deliciae,” he murmurs.

Jedediah hums and closes his eyes, shivering as the cool air hits his bare skin. His mouth presses into a pout. “Ya ain’t gonna win by seducin' me. I ain't _that_ easy.” He says this even as his knees bend.

Pulling the collar of the flimsy blue shirt up and away, Octavius mouths Jedediah’s shoulder. “Beloved. You are not easy.” He pulls back to stare into Jedediah’s eyes. “There is nothing _easy_ about you.” He kisses the tip of Jedediah’s nose. “You fight me on everything.”

“Then ya already know you ain’t gonna win,” Jedediah insists absently.

Octavius snickers as they work his tunic over his head and slide the yellow cloth from his shoulders. His hands go back to exploring Jedediah's chest, his wonderfully-toned abdominal muscles through their blanket that Jedediah pulls over himself. “We’ll see about that.”

Inhaling deeply, Jedediah pulls him closer and says, “God, you smell nice.” He looks squarely into Octavius’s eyes. “Ya know I’m gonna —”

Taking Jedediah’s face in his hands, Octavius silences him with a kiss, the gentlest kiss he knows how to bestow. He cups Jedediah's rump, molding Jedediah to him. His erection presses against Jedediah’s stomach until he gasps.

The kiss deepens, Jedediah’s stubble scraping his cheek.

Jedediah pulls back, stubborn. His brows knit together. “Yankee Doodle,” he says, nodding affirmatively.

Eyes glinting, Octavius skims a finger across Jedediah’s forearm and counters, “Deliciae.”

Alternately, they argue and kiss, making their disagreement a game.

Octavius draws back the covers, lowering his mouth to Jedediah’s throat, his chest. He leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling the tiny bud with his tongue.

Jedediah sucks in a breath and arches his back, letting out a little moan as Octavius works down the length of his body.

 _“Deliciae,”_ Octavius murmurs and runs his palms over Jedediah’s incredibly defined abdominal muscles. Kisses his flat stomach. Nuzzles him. He brings his head up. “Your scent is intoxicating.”

Finally granted permission, he then proceeds to scoot lower and undoes Jedediah’s brown leather breeches. He pulls the leather down to his beloved’s knees. Jedediah’s undergarments follow.

For a moment, Jedediah’s length brushes Octavius’s inner thigh, solid and straining.

Jedediah’s breath comes faster, and a whispered pant of anticipation slips from him as he rises up on his elbows. He is adamant. “Yankee —”

Smiling, Octavius takes Jedediah in hand, fixing his gaze solely on him.

Pupils blown, Jedediah shivers as Octavius licks a stripe up his shaft and takes him into his mouth.

Groaning, Jedediah’s fingers clutch their sleeping mat, twisting it in his grip. His eyes close. Limbs abruptly weak, his head falls back against the pillow.

Arms lifting once more, his fingers comb through Octavius's short hair as he quiets and gives into sensation.

He opens his mouth. “Baby –”

Pulling off, Octavius teases, “You have already over-utilized that name to profound effect.” He hums. “I love how you taste,” he says, keeping his tone light and conversational. He runs his tongue up and down the shaft, loving all the soft, throaty love noises Jedediah makes, and all the little start-stops of conversation.

“Oct —”

Octavius’s eyes glint at the rasp of his name. He continues his ministrations.

Losing his train of thought, Jedediah makes a broken noise that catches high in a whine. “I — _ah —!”_

Chest heaving, his breath speeds up as Octavius engulfs him again, pleasuring him, bobbing his head, making love with his mouth.

Jedediah is large and it is going to take a lot of practice and patience with himself before he can fully swallow him down to the base, but for now he makes do. From Jedediah’s moans of pleasure, his efforts appear to be enough.

 _“Nnngh, Nnngh…”_ Jedediah’s head rolls. His breath catches as his throat clicks. Before long, he is shuddering his release.

As Jedediah lies on their scrunched up sleeping mats, euphoric and coaxed into submission, Octavius continues his explorations, worshiping him, kissing Jedediah's still quivering stomach, his thighs, his knees. He works Jedediah's breeches and his undergarments all the way off and sends them sailing over his shoulder.

Aching to couple him again, Octavius rolls Jedediah on his side and blindly reaches behind him. His seeking hands find the refilled bottle of oil.

Softly, Jedediah sighs, “Baby…”

There is no shame or embarrassment this time. There are no bad memories.

Octavius turns Jedediah's head towards him, murmuring, _“Deliciae”_ and kisses him, long and slow and sweet.

After patiently working him open, Octavius slides home with one long, smooth thrust.

Jedediah’s eyes widen at the sudden fullness. He gasps sharply, in shock.

Gaze sparkling in the half light of the tent, his breath hitches as Octavius runs his right hand all over Jedediah's body and then grips him tight at the base again. The other hand holds Jedediah's head.

Octavius kisses him, running his fingers through Jedediah's hair as he slowly rocks with him in a primal rhythm.

Jedediah turns his head. His gaze is earnest. “One day. I get —” He pauses to catch his breath “— ta’ do this ta’ you.”

Octavius nods once. “Yes.”

It is a promise, an edict, and an oath.

Supremely affected, Jedediah closes his eyes, the side of his head dropping to rest against the pillow. He reaches back, hand grasping the small of Octavius’s back, his hips, encouraging and urging him closer into an even deeper union.

Octavius takes his hand and locks their fingers.

Quickening their pace, they rock together, harder, faster.

Octavius drives in and out of him so hard that Jedediah's blond bangs bounce with each snap of his hips. Until, finally, with one last deep thrust, they both find their release.

Afterward, when Jedediah has his head pillowed against Octavius’s chest, having fallen asleep to the feel of his drumming heartbeat against his cheek, and Octavius is languidly stroking Jedediah's back, Octavius still isn’t certain if the murmured moniker’s sole purpose was to name their grandchild or if its intended use is meant for Jedediah alone.

* * *

_Days later…_

“Rocket!”

“Romanus.”

* * *

_Several weeks later…_

Jedediah gasps out a huge breath, panting, and flops over onto his back next to Octavius. He thumps his head lightly against his pillow, a quivering, trembling mess. His pupils are blown wide.

“Wow.”

Octavius beams.

Grinning from ear to ear, he tries not to gloat over his triumph. Lifting his chin, he stares up at the ceiling, lost in the rapid beat of his own heart.

Peering down, he sees his chest is red from their exertions.

After catching his breath, Jedediah turns on his side. His brow furrows. He blinks and shakes his head. “Ya mean we coulda been doing _this_ the entire time?”

That is most definitely a whine.

Octavius chuckles.

Heart soaring, he finds Jedediah’s fingers and lifts his palm, bestowing a gallant kiss to the back of Jedediah’s hand.

* * *

_Later..._

“Stardust!”

“Aethon.”

* * *

_Later…_

They sit on the ground outside their tent, eating a simple meal of beans and cornbread Jedediah prepared for them.

The death pig lies at their feet while the fire crackles softly. Head on his front hooves, his gaze flicks from Jedediah to Octavius in rapt anticipation, then back again.

Assassin lifts his snout, snuffling, and oinks for a piece of cornbread of his very own.

Octavius shushes the piglet, but discreetly feeds him a handful of crumbs from his plate.

Jedediah brings a slice of cornbread to his lips, staring thoughtfully at the fire. “If the colt had been a girl, I woulda suggested we name her _Sally.”_

Octavius opens his mouth to argue for a Roman name, when Jedediah perks up and adds, “After my momma!”

Seeing how Octavius is not going to win this particular debate, he deflates and closes his mouth. Grinning far too brightly, he replies through his teeth, “Oh, how lovely.”

Missing Octavius's reticence, Jedediah beams and nods. “Yeah. Real pretty.”

He nibbles on his cornbread quietly, mentally somewhere else.

Octavius’s expression turns from grimacing to solemn.

Finished eating, he sits back and brushes crumbs from his hands, armor, and ornamental pteruges.

He angles around, sliding toward Jedediah to close the gap between them.

Stretching out, he lies on his side and he lays his head on his spouse’s leather-covered thigh.

Head pillowed, he says, “You should have christened our child _Sally_ instead of _Baby_ while you had the opportunity.”

Jedediah pauses, thinking it over. He waves a hand, upbeat. “Nah. He didn't look like no Sally."

Octavius blinks and lifts his eyes, gaze flitting to Jedediah, staring, expression deadpan.

* * *

_Later…_

While Octavius daydreams about getting Jedediah _out_ of his clothes; Jedediah daydreams about putting Octavius _in_ them.

Jedediah has been hinting his desire for travel of late. A belated honeymoon, he says. Along with travel plans, breeches for Octavius have snuck into the conversation.

While Jedediah’s vocalness over Octavius wearing pants has calmed to a low hum, he insists they are necessary for this particular excursion.

Being proactive, Octavius wishes to surprise him. So he’s visited the tailor’s shop.

Feeling awkward and out of his depth in the whole trouser-wearing department, Octavius takes a deep breath to gather his courage.

He finds his best friend and beloved whittling on a stick with his pugio outside of their tent while their meal cooks over an open fire.

Dipping his voice into a smoky register, Octavius says, “Well, hello, cowboy.”

With an exaggerated swing of his hips, Octavius saunters past.

Spurs jingle.

Jedediah raises his gaze and the whittling stops.

Octavius can feel his beloved’s gaze on him, watching him, tracking each step.

He slowly turns and leans back, elbows resting casually against an outcropping of boulders. His hip cocks in invitation. He makes certain the posture calls attention to his most important attributes and, of course, his leather-covered thighs.

He wears a simple black Stetson on his head. His toga and his military uniform have been temporarily replaced by a black button-up shirt, a red neckerchief, an intricately embroidered red waistcoat, black leather breeches, and a long black duster.

Jedediah stares blankly, regarding him in silence for a pregnant moment. He blinks, taking in the transformation.

His lips part.

Warmth spreads through Octavius.

Moving with sudden self-conscious gravity, he pushes off from the boulders and glances down at his stomach. He tugs the red waistcoat down a little farther and models the outfit with a slow twirl.

Arching a seductive eyebrow, he spreads his arms wide. “What do you think?”

Jedediah runs an appreciative gaze over him. Their eyes meet and hold for a few heartbeats before Jedediah continues his slow, unguarded perusal.

Jedediah does not have to say anything. His warm, crooked smile and the light reflecting in his gaze says it all. If Jedediah has ever looked doe-eyed at him, it is now.

Even the wind speaks its appreciation.

A sudden tempest whips at Octavius's long black leather duster. It billows out behind him, tickling the backs of his calves and ankles even through the leather.

Octavius loses his come-hither expression and preens.

* * *

_Later…_

Ice crystals pelt against Octavius’s face. Frigid gusts of wind assault him, blowing snow into his eyes.

It isn’t so much the cold as the air current that is too much for him to handle. The blustery wind wants to push him over and he struggles with everything in him to keep his balance.

The whirling air coming down from the snow-topped mountain peak would be enough to take his very breath away if it isn’t for his many layers of clothing and the scarf wrapped securely around his mouth. Perhaps. He does not seem to be all that affected by the cold.

Nevertheless, force of habit has him tucking his chin against the icy fury, buffeting the tempest with his hooded head, and hunching over as much as he can.

Visibility limited, he shields his eyes with one hand. He can barely see Jedediah trudging along slightly ahead of him.

Cowboy boots crunching against the ice, his spouse stomps through the layers of thigh-high snow as though it is nothing. He wraps his arms around himself as they slog along.

Octavius loses his footing and stumbles over on his back. The snow cushions his fall.

Jedediah glances behind him. He stops hiking and turns around, stumbling over icy, snow-blanketed rocks.

Octavius rolls. And. Well. Keeps rolling.

He rocks from side to side, impotent, unable to push up. His body flattens the surrounding snowdrifts with his struggles.

Thrashing and bucking in an attempt to build momentum enough to pull himself to his knees, he rolls in the snow like an overfed puppy.

Rocking on his side at last, he kicks, loses momentum, and rolls back into his prone position, spent.

Jedediah finds his own footing. With slow, deliberate steps he trudges through the blizzard, making his way back over hidden, treacherous terrain.

Squatting on his haunches, he rearranges Octavius’s scarf, wrapping it more securely around Octavius's neck and head.

They are both breathing heavy from their exertions. Octavius sees their breath swirl with each puff for air.

Trussed up in layers that are already so tight he cannot move, Octavius strains to extend them fully and cup Jedediah’s face. To say farewell.

He cannot.

This is precisely what he gets for agreeing to Jedediah’s harebrained scheme of celebrating their belated “honeymoon” on the top of Mount Everest. Or, rather, agreeing to a honeymoon on the closest facsimile to Mount Everest they have access to. This, as it turns out, is the colossal snow banks housed within the Alaskan exhibit.

Unable to roll to his feet, Octavius rocks while enormous snowflakes whips sideways in the frigid air, the many layers sealing his doom. “Go, my love. Leave me.”

The impassioned plea is muffled by his scarf and swallowed up by the shrieking wind.

The Eskimos sit quietly beside them, taking in the scene.

Hands clasped on their laps, they stare down at the honeymooning pair with dark, inscrutable gazes. They blink, largely unaffected by the unfolding miniature melodrama while a steady torrent of fluffy snowflakes swirls down around everyone in a twisting curtain effect.

Octavius can barely see, only just having his nose and eyes poking out from his scarf and the hooded, furred coat Jedediah made for him.

Jedediah is dressed normally, except for a heavy jacket and scarf. He lifts his head back and howls. _“Whoo-wee!”_

He is having the time of his life.

Settling in the snow more comfortably, he asks, “What was that, hoss?”

Octavius wets his lips, and then shouts, but his words remain muffled.

Jedediah pulls the scarf from around Octavius’s forehead and mouth. He wipes the freezing sweat off Octavius’s brow. “What didja say?”

Octavius lifts his head off the ground and repeats his pronouncements, and adds, “I’ll only slow you down. Save yourself.”

Amusement flits across Jedediah’s face. He ducks his head, huffing. Bobbing his head from side to side, he agrees. “Alrighty.”

He pushes up and begins hiking.

Panicked, Octavius lifts his hand. “Stop! I changed my mind! Don't go!” he shouts. “I was being dramatic.”

Jedediah turns, watching him, slightly quizzical. He rolls his lips to keep from laughing. “So. Much. Drama.” A wry grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. It is even more dazzling than the frosted-diamond landscape surrounding them. “Ya know we’re technically still at base camp, right?”

Octavius’s eyes dart, sliding to the right. Ignoring their already set up their travel tent, he says nothing. The silence stretches. “Perhaps…”

Jedediah shakes his head. His laughter is warm. His voice takes on a light, teasing note. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Attraction surges through Octavius at Jedediah’s nearness.

“I can think of a few things.” He smiles a wolfish grin. “I was once informed the best way to preserve body heat is to crawl, unclothed, between the sheets with someone equally divested of their attire. Care to put this advice to the test?” He arches an eyebrow. “I mean, what good are advisors if you never adhere to their wisdom?”

Jedediah smiles distractedly. In fact, his grin never slips from his face. A twinkle appears in his eyes. His gaze flicks up and around them in a quick circle, taking in the inhabitants of the exhibit.

“Well, if ya can find somebody ‘round these parts who’s already naked as the day they were born...” He shrugs. “I'd say ya gotta shot at testin' the notion.” His voice is smooth and suave as silk. He jerks his thumb. “And conveniently enough…”

Octavius does a double take and pulls a face, feeling the warm breaths of the Eskimo dogs as they pant. Tongues lolling, they grin happy canine grins, prancing on their front paws and whining at Octavius’s notice. They lick their chops and continue their excited two-step.

The seal barks, bobbing his nose back and forth enthusiastically.

Octavius jerks his head back. “I’m not _that_ cold.”

“You ain't cold at all, doggone it!” Jedediah scoffs.

_Blast! Foiled!_

Marriage is changing Jedediah. He is becoming more confident and aware of his own charms. Which has its uses; simply not at present.

“I wouldn't go so far as to say our being impervious to the cold is not without boundaries.” Octavius strains to touch his fingers to Jedediah's mouth. He meets with resistance. His arms cannot stretch through such layers. “Your lips have turned an alarming shade of purple, my dear.” He nods emphatically. “We require skin-on-skin contact if we are to weather the storm.”

“The cold can’t hurt us anymore,” Jedediah insists.

Octavius pauses and thinks about this. He lifts his chin and sniffs. “Nevertheless…”

“Uh-huh…”

Jedediah stands up and lightly kicks at Octavius’s legs. Octavius’s heavy clothing makes it difficult for him to feel a thing.

“Oh, get up,” Jedediah grouses. “Don’t be such a baby!”

Octavius harrumphs through his many layers. “I cannot. I am physically incapable!”

Jedediah crouches, pulling Octavius into an almost-sitting position. With all the layers, it is difficult. Legs splayed, Octavius faces Jedediah with his arms stretched out, stiff, like a doll.

Mouth compressed in concentration, Jedediah pushes Octavius's arms down. They spring up.

“Okay, so maybe I gone a little overboard on dressin’ ya up for this expedition.”

Octavius arches an eyebrow.

Jedediah has the decency to look embarrassed. “The cold might not affect us all that much, but I wasn’t all the way for sure. Wanted ta’ test out the theory first.” Sheepish, it is his turn for his eyes to dart.

Octavius lifts his other eyebrow.

Jedediah works his jaw, spreading his arms wide. “Look.” His voice is subdued, almost pleading. “I lived in the snow half my life, alright? I was just lookin’ out for ya!”

* * *

_Later..._

Jedediah helps Octavius divest himself of his wooly cocoon, and it isn’t long before Octavius feels something stinging and wet explode against the side of his face.

Indignant, Octavius sputters, spitting snow from his mouth. He blinks and wipes his cheek. He stares accusingly at his best friend and the love of his life.

Jedediah’s usual mild nature and willingness to get his hands dirty makes it easy to forget he is highborn and spent his early years surrounded by wealth and privilege. He stands now, regal, appearing both innocent and as guilty as sin. It is an affluent trait.

His blond hair shifts in the wind. Magnificent.

He laughs and bolts, but the snow is too deep for immediate escape and his attempt to flee is thwarted. He falls over backward in the snow.

Octavius is struck, yet again, that Jedediah’s smile is even more blinding than the landscape.

His stomach does a flip-flop. He shakes his head, in awe at the ease in which his spouse reverts back into childhood.

An evil gleam enters his eyes.

Smiling predatorily, he stoops and shovels up powdery slush for his own snowball.

He turns.

Bouncing the perfectly spherical masterpiece in his palm, he unhurriedly steps forward, intent on shoving the snowball down the front of Jedediah’s shirt.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Don't you dare,” Jedediah warns, crab walking backward. He lifts his hands defensively, lips still purple. His cheeks and nose are red with the cold.

And yet he still does not shiver. Curious.

Arching an eyebrow, Octavius nods and says, “I dare.”

Octavius jerks back, sputtering, as a second icy missile explodes in a puff of wet powder, smacking him full in the mouth.

It is an act of war.

Jedediah scrambles up, on the move. Octavius chases after him, scooping up half-formed snowballs and lobbing them at his back.

It is difficult to tell who catches who as they wrap their arms around each other’s shoulders, going down in a tangle of limbs. They are belly laughing the entire time.

Jedediah stuffs snow down the front of Octavius’s black leather breeches and Octavius curses and wriggles, cramming snow down the back of Jedediah’s collar.

They both yowl more from the icy shock than the genuine cold.

After a time, Jedediah rolls his head toward Octavius. “I always have fun with you. Ya know that, right?”

Octavius falters, overcome. “And I always have fun with you. Even when I complain.” He turns on his side and cups Jedediah’s face. “I wish to be with you always. Here. In this place. And in all places.”

The snowball fight makes the entire holiday worthwhile. And the enthusiastic coupling they engage in when they are finally alone goes a long way toward improving Jedediah’s chances of talking Octavius into future extensive travel.

* * *

_Later…_

When they return from their extended expedition honeymoon, they find their tent has been moved far from town.

Since the night guards began hinting at a greater looming presence in their lives with the constant moving of his own house, Octavius is alert and extremely wary.

He’s never taken the night guard threat seriously before. Not really. Not like Jedediah has, but hunting for their home within the Old West diorama stirs his perceptions and fills him with dread.

Abruptly claustrophobic, he is bothered the night guards could come bursting into the hall whenever they please, lean their gigantic heads into the Old West diorama, and further disrupt his happy home like they did before.

Stepping quietly around the tent, Octavius inches sideways, turns wildly, searching.

He sweeps his gaze over his new surroundings as though expecting to find the night guards concealed behind tumbleweed. The notion is ridiculous for a number of reasons, of course. Paranoid, even, but he still frowns and pays careful attention to everything around them, looking for signs of further upheaval.

He unsheathes his sword and pokes the sharp tip of the blade into brambles and random foliage.

For once, Jedediah appears untroubled by the turn their night has taken. He beams and strolls over to their home, hands in his pockets.

In one fluid motion, Jedediah hops back and pulls the tent flap open, revealing a surprise. An iron bed, made for two.

_“Taaa-daaa!”_

Gasping, Octavius takes in the new addition to their home. His gaze flicks between Jedediah and the bed.

“So our honeymoon was a ruse,” he says slowly, working the conspiracy out aloud. He waves his hand at the tent. “For this?”

Bashful, Jedediah rocks back and forth on his heels. “The honeymoon was real enough, I expect.” He shrugs. “You were always goin’ on and on about wanting your old bed back and I wanted ta’ do something special. Get you something nice. Only. I had ta’ get ya away for a spell if I wanted to surprise you.” He toes the dirt with the tip of his boot. “Surprised?”

Octavius shakes his head. Overcome, speechless, giddy, he stares at Jedediah open-mouthed.

An instant later, Jedediah rocks back from the pounce.

It is a long while before they regain enough stamina to christen the bed properly.

* * *

_Later…_

“Spitfire!”

“Little Caesar.”

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah teaches Octavius poker. Octavius teaches Jedediah various dice games; he had been a skilled dice player in another life.

Beside him, Jedediah stands, tension in his shoulders. Rock steady, concentrating a little too intensely on the game, he shakes the dice. Eyes distant, he stares down at his own hand, looking a little mystified.

After a beat, he lifts his wrist and blows on his closed fist.

Just as Jedediah is set to roll the dice, Octavius leans over and blows in his ear.

Jedediah jumps and the dice fly up into the air. He flinches as each dice piece pelts him on the way down.

He whirls on Octavius, slapping his own thigh. “Doggone-it, Oct! Would ya stop doin’ that! That’s cheatin’!”

Octavius rumbles; a single bark of laughter bursts from him. Pleased with himself, he claps at his own antics and dips his chin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. It tickles him to no end that Jedediah is still so easy to tease and fluster.

“Adorable,” he says.

Jedediah does not crack wise or immediately expand on his rant. Instead, he reddens and bites his lip.

Fidgeting, he peers down at his feet in self-annoyance and lets out an explosive noise under his breath, scrambling to pick up all the dice pieces.

In his haste, the toe of his boot strikes one of the dice and it is kicked further away.

Becoming even more flustered, he shouts _“Dagnabit!”_ under his breath.

It occurs to Octavius that Jedediah is deeply embarrassed over having never played this particular game before. This is a new game, yet to be taught. Or rather, the game is ancient and has been lost to time.

He is a novice. Lost.

Unable to comprehend all the moves, countermoves, and condensed rules, he does not wish to appear anything less than intelligent in Octavius’s eyes. Of course, Octavius is of the opinion the concern is invalid. His goals have been playful, not to make fun of Jedediah’s ignorance over a silly game.

Octavius shows mercy. Clearing his throat, he grows serious and raises his palm. “Peace, Jedediah.”

Hands on his hips, Jedediah grimaces and breathes out another explosive sigh. He peers over at him, expression hard, but his eyes are vulnerable. His lips are a thin line.

Octavius steps forward, and easily slips into the role of teacher.

In a matter-of-fact tone, he instructs Jedediah how to roll the dice properly, the rules of the game, offering insights and the best stratagems on how to win.

No doubt it is unnecessary to lean so close over Jedediah's shoulder, but their shared intimacy is still so gloriously, wondrously new. Transfixed by the man in front of him, unable to look away, he simply cannot help himself, and turns on the charm.  

Jedediah's gaze slides to the side in order to meet his. Octavius’s nonjudgmental instruction and patience has calmed him and he’s lost his defensive posture. His focus is unwavering, holding, searching.

Instant heat and desire flares in Octavius’s belly. His pulse and his breath quickens.

They keep their eyes fixed on each other until it is Octavius who becomes distracted. He raises Jedediah's hand to press a kiss against his knuckles.

Realizing this chaste kiss could never be enough, Octavius works his lips up Jedediah's blue-sleeved wrist, his arms, his shoulder.

Letting out a little gasp, Jedediah tilts his head, allowing access to his neck.

Feeling Jedediah’s pulse against his lips, Octavius presses against him, hinting. He whispers, “I still cannot believe you’re mine.” His words are followed by, “I wish to couple you.”

 _“Oct —”_ Jedediah breathes, and the dice rolls from his fingers.

* * *

_Later…_

“Gordon!”

“Julian.”

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius returns home from one of his near-nightly treks to Rome and finds Jedediah inside their tent.

Walking up behind him, Octavius nuzzles his neck. His lips brush Jedediah’s cheek while his hand lifts to caress Jedediah’s stubbled jawline.

Jedediah stiffens out of reflex, but realizing its Octavius, he releases a soft sigh. His bunched muscles ease and he allows his entire body to meld into the contact.

He turns in Octavius’s arms. His smile is soft. “Evenin’, stranger.”

They kiss, long and hard and deep.

Breaking apart, they rest their foreheads together. They catch their breath.

After a beat, Jedediah pulls back. The tip of his tongue peeks out. He glances down. Bringing his head back up, the look he shoots Octavius scorches the blood, his own temperature rising in response.

Jedediah’s eyes dance. He squints so tightly, his irises practically disappear within the crinkly laugh lines around his eyes. “So…” He grins. “Is that a pugio in your pocket or are ya just happy to see me?”

That is most assuredly flirtation. No question. And still utterly spontaneous and silly and right!

_It is them. This is their life._

Gleeful, Octavius twists from side to side. He does not correct Jedediah or inform him ornamental pteruges have no pockets. And his body is certainly in favor of messing about.

He lifts his chin and keeps the flirtation going.

With no small amount of innuendo in his voice, he replies, “No, darling. It is my phallus. And I am _very_ happy to see you.”

* * *

_Later…_

“Ollie!”

“Pollux.”

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah makes dinner.

Digging into their meal, they sit outside their tent, which permanently — and very deliberately — remains far from town.

While they eat, Octavius glances over to find Jedediah’s gaze fixed on him.

Excitement rises in his throat at the focused attention. He smiles warmly, softly, knowingly.

Without speaking, Octavius sets his tin plate and fork down. Then he rises and reaches for Jedediah’s palm.

Equally as silent, Jedediah takes the proffered hand. Starlight in his gaze, he allows Octavius to lead him back inside the tent.

* * *

_Later…_

“Firecracker!”

“Comet!”

Jedediah slaps his own thigh. “What in the dad-blame world!”

Octavius chuckles.

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah drags Octavius to a secluded corner for some alone time and launches forward, pressing him up against a boulder.

Octavius’s lips are taken. The kiss is hard and fast. Their tongues duel.

Hands under the backs of Octavius’s thighs, Jedediah lifts him up, drawing his knees apart.

Octavius’s legs automatically wrap around Jedediah’s waist.

Jedediah has been hinting his desire for turnabout in their bedroom play, but Octavius is not ready. He will be.

He _will_ be.

For this man, his reply will always be a resounding _yes!_ Only. Not yet.

Octavius chuckles into their kiss, encouraging Jedediah’s take charge approach, enjoying it immensely. He hears rustling and the clanging of Jedediah’s belt buckle being unfastened.

The belt drops to the ground with a soft thud against the sun-hardened earth.

Closing his eyes, Octavius’s sandaled feet hit the ground. He allows his hands to explore, stroking Jedediah's hard length through his breeches.

Before long, Octavius is unclothed from the waist down and he’s freed Jedediah from his own constraints.

Holding each other’s gazes, they slide their lengths together. The contact is exquisite.

With nine children and a grandchild, they are becoming masters of the “quickie,” and this, at least, will suffice.

For the moment.

* * *

_Later…_

“Let’s make a baby!”

And with this call to arms, another new era is born.

Jedediah throws Octavius over his shoulder, heading for their tent.

_“My love —!”_

Jedediah turns them around in a full circle in an effort to communicate – somewhat — face to face. He gives it up as a lost cause, squeezing Octavius’s rump instead.

Octavius whips his head, eyes lighting up. His mouth opens in a perfect _O_ of surprise. “Ooh, Jedediah!”

He kicks his legs.

Determinedly, Jedediah keeps marching, lifting him higher on his shoulder.

“You realize two men cannot physically conceive children together, correct?”

Jedediah rolls his head. “I know. I know. But I’ll keep tryin’. Ain’t the giving up kind. And it don’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves while we’re at it!”

“It is very evident we need no more children.” Octavius bounces with each step Jedediah takes. His head bobs. “They keep us busy enough.”

Jedediah swats his rump.

Octavius squeaks.

“Hush, you.” Jedediah swings his gloved fist in the air. “We’re goin’.”

Being the resident frontier doctor, Jedediah knows perfectly well they cannot “make babies” together, but he takes to using this expression rather than “knocking boots,” or “hanky panky,” or anything overtly vulgar.

And even though he is experiencing a sexual awakening, he still cannot say the word: _sex_. The word is not in him. So he’s gotten creative in a purely Jedediah stream-of-consciousness sort of way.

* * *

_Weeks later…_

Octavius rolls over after unfreezing and feels a smooth, still-glossy palm soften and become real. The hand glides over his chest.

Jedediah nuzzles the back of his neck, nose skimming against his skin.

Humming, Octavius angles his neck, still mostly asleep, murmuring endearments. They make up half of his vocabulary these days.

“Let’s make a baby!”

Octavius takes Jedediah’s enthusiasm in stride. His chuckle comes out as a low rumble.

He brushes his fingertips up and down Jedediah’s forearm as Jedediah’s arms tighten around him. "I believe I may have created a monster,” he says, turning his head to peer back at Jedediah. “I married a sex maniac.”

Without warning, he is flipped on his back and then straddled.

Jedediah grins down at him, all teeth. His gaze smolders a true cowboy smolder. His voice dips into a low, throaty murmur. “You lucky boy.”

Octavius’s eyes widen at the easy flirtation.

Jedediah’s triumphant smile is enormous.

Octavius feels lucky, indeed. And so very proud.

Losing the cowboy smolder, there is a glimmer of mischief in Jedediah’s gaze. He lifts his eyebrows, and wriggles atop Octavius.

“I’m making up for lost time. We’re talkin’ two hundred years without fooling around. And with you it's been even longer. So come on! Let’s make a baby!”

“There is more to life than simply making babies, Jedediah!” Octavius chastises. There is exasperation in his tone, but no real heat in his voice. “I require sustenance.”

Jedediah laughs. Their teasing over, the mischievous light leaves his eyes and is replaced by a tender one.

“Come here, beautiful man,” he says at last, and gently folds Octavius in an embrace.

Octavius wraps his arms around Jedediah’s neck, blinking back the sting of tears. He’s never felt this cherished before. Not by anyone.

Emotions overwhelm him. He does not openly weep, but his breath hitches.

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius dozes more because despite his and Jedediah’s mutual agreement over there only being a three year difference in their ages, Octavius is still older and he tires quicker.

Hovering on the edge of consciousness, he blinks his eyes open, his brain gradually weaving reality back together.

He awakens fully and rolls over to face Jedediah, finding his beloved smiling at him, eyes aglow.

While Octavius has been asleep, Jedediah slipped out of bed to pull on his breeches. Rumpled and barefoot, he pads over. His shirt is still gloriously unbuttoned.

The look Jedediah bestows is quiet and yet profound.

Lifting his head for a kiss, Octavius’s arms encircle Jedediah around the waist, under his shirt. His touch is reverent.

Octavius nuzzles Jedediah’s neck and speaks what Jedediah still has difficulty saying at times.

His words are simple and just as profound.

“My love…”

Octavius's toga is already lying on the ground in a crumpled heap from their earlier lovemaking, but the ruffles in their bed sheets give him back the illusion of a warrior emissary bearing a message of redemption. Delicate. Graceful. Ethereal. Angelic.

The flimsy blue shirt is flung, meeting its companion-toga on the floor.

When their bodies collide this time, their lovemaking is quiet. Slow. Gentle.

Jedediah kisses his throat and holds him after.

Octavius places his palm over Jedediah's heart, just as captivated by Jedediah’s heartbeat as Jedediah is with his.

* * *

_Later..._

There is no doubt about it. Octavius’s husband is a cuddler. Sometimes he'll reach over and squeeze Octavius's hand for no reason at all.

Octavius always stops what he’s doing and beams.

* * *

_Later..._

Jedediah is insatiable, his energy inexhaustible.

They discovered rather early in this new chapter of their lives that Jedediah likes sex. A lot. They go at it like bunnies.

He is a runaway blond steam engine of sexual fortitude.

Octavius lies spread-eagle on their bed. He stares blankly up at the ceiling with his mouth hanging open, spent, no energy left, completely boneless. He supposes it serves him right after pursuing a much younger man. And a hyperactive one at that. He may never be the same.

Frustrated, Jedediah crawls up Octavius's body to sit astride his chest. He tilts his head and prods him gently. “You okay there, hoss?”

Octavius’s eyes flicker. “I think you have, at last, broken my spirit, my love. If we keep going at this pace you’re going to whittle me down to the nub.”

Jedediah leans back slowly, thoughtfully, taking in Octavius's easy surrender. Finally, he squints, spouting, “Oh, get it _up,_ ya big baby. Take it like a man! Rise to the occasion.”

Octavius rolls his head, expelling a long hiss of breath from his lungs.

* * *

_Later…_

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Yeah? Well, what a way to go!”

* * *

_Later..._

Contrary to general consensus within the dioramas, Octavius and Jedediah do actually emerge from their sex fog long enough to experience life outside of their tent.

Octavius’s legs fly up over his head as he is jerked off of his feet by his paludamentum. He lands hard with an _“Uhff!”_

The currently unnamed foal is just like his mother: a menace. He is also like his grandfather: an incredibly energetic and playful lunatic.

The colt uses his blunt baby teeth and lifts the paludamentum off the ground. Head bobbing and twisting, he whinnies. He tugs stubbornly on the material, wanting to play.

Octavius readjusts his cockeyed helmet and pulls the paludamentum free from the horse’s mouth.

The colt hops and kicks and jumps about, whickering.

Octavius is tempted to call the foul creature: _Yankee Doodle_ out of spite.

As though reading his thoughts, the colt's ears prick. He hops, putting all his weight on his front hooves and butts his head against Octavius’s chest.

Octavius is knocked back on his rump, splayed out on the ground in a sloppy sitting position.

“Demon seed!” He knows this is all Silas’s fault. It must be. He swivels his head searching for the man so he can thwack him with the blunt end of his sword. Silas is conspicuously absent. “Blast!”

Silas wants to call the colt, _Fart in a whirlwind._

No. Just. No.

Octavius exhales sharply and balls his hands into fists.

“Now, now, Oct,” Jedediah calls, sensing a tirade.

Barely able to control the twitching corners of his mouth, he leans his weight on the fenced-in corral. Hip cocked, his hands are clasped out in front of him.

“Don’t be callin’ the grandchild names. You’ll hurt his feel goods.”

Octavius harrumphs.

“You’ll scare ‘em,” Jedediah insists.

Octavius pulls a face and once more gets to his feet. His fists clench again out of frustration. “Nothing scares him. That’s the problem.”

Eyes going crescent moon-shaped, Jedediah dips his head, laughing softly.

Octavius’s paludamentum lifts on its own. Or, rather, the demon child has snuck up on him and is craning his long neck around, peeking his head up from underneath the cloth.

Turning, Octavius peers into deeply brown, soulful eyes. They appear so innocent. It is a ruse.

The colt’s tail flicks, revealing his true nature: his mother’s son.

The colt whinnies. Then he throws his head to the side and goes hopping off, kicking up dust with his back legs.

“Aw! He’s playin’ _rodeo_ with you, baby doll _._ He thinks he’s a bucking bronco,” Jedediah croons. He leans over and sets down a plate on a hay bale. Holding up his newest edible masterpiece, he asks, “Cookie?”

Bedraggled, Octavius dusts himself off and limps over. How they always manage to get saddled with babysitting duty is beyond him. Probably because everyone else goes wandering off.

At the slightest hint Sweet Pea and Biscuit need a break and babysitting duty must be assigned, Baby thunders off down the hallway to play with his bone, the twins abruptly forget their oaths of sobriety, and the Huns wander off to pillage nicely. And Silas? Harem. The harem-in-laws? Silas. This leaves Octavius and Jedediah.

Jedediah takes these duties in stride; Octavius fights them.

“Ah, come on. He likes ya! He knows you got a way with the animals.”

Octavius harrumphs again and leans his weight back against the fence, head tilted back. Before he can take the tasty morsel, the colt snatches it from Jedediah’s fingers.

Dust flies as the young steed proudly trots off with the cookie, tail held high.

Octavius sighs and slumps backward, laying his head against the railing. He is exhausted.

Next to him, Jedediah leans his head on his folded arms. Good humor is prevalent in his eyes. He bumps Octavius's shoulder.

“He does, ya know. Like you.”

“I wish he didn’t like me _so_ much,” Octavius complains. As the head of the household, he points down at the ground. "His mother may not take my advice, but he is wedding a Roman horse!”

“My boy.” Jedediah clicks his tongue against his teeth. He tips his hat down over his eyes. “Who says he don’t like animals…”

“It matters not that I do not like animals,” Octavius states out of the side of his mouth. “He is marrying a Roman horse and that is final!” Hellbeast Junior hops in Octavius’s direction and Octavius holds out his hand, palm out. “Go away.”

Jedediah smiles wide. He snickers.

Octavius flicks a glance at him and sniffs.

The colt is taking after the death pig in that the baby horse follows Octavius around everywhere and tugs on what Jedediah now refers to as simply: his _cape._

Assassin has also begun teaching the colt teleporting, Mayan assassin death tricks. Octavius is not amused. There have been a couple of instances where the little horse teleported out of the _Hall of Miniatures_ only to be brought back by Baby, the kicking colt tucked safely inside the confines of his maw.

However, Jedediah is right. The little demon seed likes him.

He plays hard and crashes even harder, usually teleporting over and either tripping or pulling Octavius down so he can fall asleep on his lap.

This typically occurs when Octavius has set himself on a romantic mission. The colt has no concept of romance.

Many times Jedediah has discovered them this way and each time, Octavius lifts a finger to his lips so as not to “wake the baby.”

This affects Jedediah far more than the romantic gestures. He believes Octavius is being overly sweet when in actuality, Octavius is bothered the colt is going to forget he’s tired and begin hopping around all over again.

The respite is just as much for Octavius’s benefit as the colt’s. Jedediah calls it bonding time.

Amusement flits in Jedediah’s gaze. “You just take it hard is all, ya big baby.”

Octavius nuzzles his head against Jedediah's shoulder and closes his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment of peaceful pleasure. “I do not.”

Jedediah’s eyes sparkle with mischief, but he doesn’t comment.

Octavius watches him fondly. “We need to get away. Just the two of us.”

“Angling for another round of sparking?”

Octavius watches him with lifted eyebrows. “Genuine courtship? Certainly. Are you amenable?”

Jedediah glances down. Looking up slightly, he meets Octavius gaze from beneath the brim of his Stetson. There is no smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkle and his lips twitch as though he might grin. “Maybe.”

A flash of a smile graces Octavius's expression.

Jedediah hums. “Not Rome, though. Maybe something more…” Jedediah lifts his shoulder “…adventurous.”

“I’m not climbing to the top of Everest again.”

Jedediah huffs and rolls his eyes.

Without jostling Octavius, Jedediah manages to angle his lithe body just so and pick his plate up from the hay bale beside him.

They both startle as the colt teleports over and steals the cookies. He proudly prances off, plate in his mouth.

The pair glance at one another and point simultaneously, naming their grandchild.

“Cookie!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I've been sick. Nothing serious. Most of February and into March, I've cycled through several winter time bugs. 
> 
> Update: Despite my best intentions, I realized I needed a small hiatus from this fic after over two years of nonstop postings each month. The break is over and I am hard at work on the next chapter once more, and it will pick back up in May. Thank you for your patience and understanding. Your continued interest and kind words have kept this puppy going. ♥
> 
> This chapter is entirely made out of fluff. I decided to let the newlyweds enjoy being a couple before we begin dealing with more serious matters.
> 
> A special shout-out goes to my super mega awesome power beta, [CuriousDinosaur.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) As always any mistakes are my own.


	26. By The Bye

_Later…_

Octavius is finishing up the affairs of Rome when he notices a flutter of activity from the much larger beings outside the diorama _._

He regally lifts his hand, requesting silence from Titus and the other officers surrounding him.

Tilting his head, he steps closer to the edge of his diorama, listening to the chatter of voices, watching the giants.

Some are moving in single file lines, while others scatter to the far winds without discipline.

Tongues lolling, harnessed arctic dogs happily race through the _Hall of Miniatures_ , pulling along riderless sleds.  A faceless soldier crawls, only capable of utilizing his upper body to make his way down to the first floor. A water buffalo swings his head from side to side as he meanders along at a sedate pace.

Teddy sways atop _Little Texas_ , lazily rocking with the horse’s movements _._

Catching Octavius’s eye, he grins down at him.  “Octavius! There you are! Good to see you, my lad!” he exclaims.

Sentinels offer Roman salutes; Mayans wave, energetically bouncing up and down across the other side of the hall, wishing to be noticed. The Americans sit on the edge of their exhibit one diorama over. Boots dangling, they holler and wave their Stetsons and bonnets at the sight of Teddy as he parades past.

Teddy draws and raises the decorative sword at his hip in salute at the gathered miniatures.

As he departs, something glints off his ceremonial blade. The sword acts like a large mirror, reflecting light from a far-off window.

The world is ablaze. Pink streaks creep across an indigo sky.

Octavius jolts, experiencing the sudden familiar tightness inside his chest, his tendons stretching. Instinctively, Octavius sidesteps, hopping away from the sight of the rising sun.  

Time has gotten away from him. There had been a wedding to officiate, followed by a swift divorce, and then a rage-marriage by the same couple.

These actions were followed by Octavius settling a backlog of petty disagreements and disputes between various officers.

Everyone, it seems, required an audience with him tonight, and he lost track of time.

While the wisest course of action is simply to remain in Rome for the day and to return to the Old West at night, it is out of character for Octavius to be gone this long — and certainly not this close to sunrise.

He thinks of Jedediah fretting at the lateness of the hour, worrying about him.

Without obvious rush, he excuses himself and jumps down from the Roman diorama, landing in a deep crouch, paludamentum swirling.

Swinging up into the Old West, his gait is a trifle sluggish, and it hurts to breathe. It becomes a race against the coming of the dawn to make it home before he freezes in his tracks.

Dust flies as he plows past Americans already beginning their trek to take up positions near the railroad.

He sweeps past Silas who alley oops onto Sweet Pea’s back, taking Jedediah’s place as “lead cowboy” while Jedediah and Octavius play at being outlaws deeper out in the desert.

Octavius is losing ground in the wake of the rising sun. Feeling as though he’s breathing through water, he staggers forward on willpower alone, his momentum bringing him back home to camp.

He whips the tent flaps open to reveal Jedediah hurriedly slinging on his vest and jamming his Stetson down on his head.

At Octavius’s stumbling entrance, Jedediah whirls.

They stare at one another, gazes locked. Their surroundings go quiet and very, very still.

Jedediah's Stetson throws a shadow over his eyes. He quickly pulls it off, the cowboy hat dropping to the ground.

The raw relief in Jedediah’s gaze takes Octavius’s breath away.

“Beloved…”

Octavius lunges forward, cupping Jedediah's jaw, as the tightness in his chest expands. The magic sustaining him is bleeding back into the atmosphere, relinquishing its hold.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he murmurs. “Matters took longer than anticipated.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Jedediah butts his forehead against Octavius’s as they take short, shallow breaths. He leans back to look him in the eyes. “I thought one of them guards caught wind a wayward Roman was on the loose and got you. I was coming ta’ find ya.”

Octavius smiles fondly, gaze roaming over Jedediah’s face. “And what would you have done had I been spirited away? Rescue me single-handedly?”

“Don’t you worry about what I woulda done.” Jedediah nods to himself. “Come hell or high water, I woulda gotcha back.”

Octavius’s eyebrows shoot up. Marveling over such devotion in the wake of Jedediah’s outlaw status and the paralyzing rigidity that must be creeping into Jedediah’s own limbs, he shakes his head and warmly intones, “Such heroism…”

Jedediah’s clothing and his skin are taking on a shine. “Ain’t heroic. We look out for each other,” he says, bringing his gaze up. His eyes are the most gloriously painted blue. “This is what we do.”

“Yes,” Octavius agrees quietly, not having the breath for anything further, taking the words to heart.

They freeze like this, in each other’s arms, as predawn light floods through every window of the museum.

* * *

_And so it goes…_

_Time passes…_

* * *

_Later..._

Octavius desires to teach Jedediah swordsmanship. It is an idea that has taken root and dominated his thoughts of late.

Part of this desire stems from wanting to share a pursuit from his own time period with his best friend and spouse. The other portion... Well. He trusts his men. Most of the time.

While he doubts Rome will have an uprising any time soon, he feels compelled to train Jedediah with the sword and shield. Memory makes it very easy for Octavius to fall back on old habits in this regard. There is no matter more serious than the safety of his loved ones.

They look out for each other. This is what they do.

He believes, at the very least, the sparring will be an educational experience and a fun diversion for Jedediah even if Octavius does have ulterior motives.

And the swordplay might add a little spice to his love life. Not that it truly needs any. They still engage in frequent stockade dates — courtesy of Jedediah, of course. And Octavius is secretly making preparation for an extended African exhibit expedition.

Mercifully for Octavius’s stamina, the newness of their shared intimacy, while not losing its shine, is taming to more manageable levels and the sex fog is — at last — lifting.

He is beginning to believe he may survive this marriage bed after all! Barring any more unforeseen surprises, that is.

Jedediah’s enthusiasm had taken him completely off guard. Although, perhaps Jedediah’s predilections shouldn’t have come as quite a shock considering the sheer number of children that sprang out of the Strong-Smith household.  

Closing his eyes, Octavius gives a small shake of his head. His spouse is in every respect his mother’s son.

Sitting on their shared bed, visions of the past burrow into his mind and he feels another surge of urgency. He takes a steadying breath, broaching the subject.

Across from him at the small table, Jedediah lifts his head from his journal. He looks at Octavius intently; he doesn’t say anything.

After a moment’s contemplation, he scoots closer to the table, hunching over, returning to his writing. “I don’t think so. Not right now.”

Octavius arches an eyebrow, genuinely surprised Jedediah isn’t jumping over the prospect of the suggested activity. He thinks swordplay would be an exciting sport for his agile and energetic spouse to engage in. “Why not?”

Jedediah plays with his writing instrument. He stares at it thoughtfully, twisting it around and around between his fingers. “I don’t wanna fight ya.”

Inwardly, the confession warms Octavius, but he has set himself on a mission and will not be deterred. He lifts his hand in a pacifying gesture. “The fights would not be real. And you may find swordplay an enjoyable pastime.”

Jedediah rolls his eyes. The expression he turns on Octavius is faintly exasperated. He lifts both his eyebrows and mumbles under his breath, “And I might just cut something off.”

“Trust me, Jedediah. I hardly foresee you cutting off parts of my anatomy. And certainly not those parts you have grown especially fond of.”

Jedediah still has the ability to color. He does so now. Raising an arm, he slaps his thigh. “I ain’t meanin’ _those_ parts, doggone it! I just said _something!_ _Something_ covers a whole slew a’parts.”

Resolute, Octavius wheedles. He has learned it is his most valuable weapon against Jedediah’s stubbornness. His beloved is far more susceptible to Octavius’s dogged determination than one might expect, caving more often than not.

“We’ll start off small,” Octavius reasons, heartened by Jedediah’s silence. He hasn’t dug in his heels; he hasn’t said _no._

Octavius scoots forward. Heart racing, he presses his advantage.

“The weapon would be made out of wood. Quite dull. There would be no danger of cutting anything off, ‘Diah.”

Jedediah regards him seriously. His face softens.

Octavius tries again. His gaze grows distant, a ghost of a smile hovering across his mouth. “I should like to train again. With someone I trust implicitly.” He casually shrugs his shoulders. “The idea would be daunting otherwise.”

With slow, deliberate movements, he places his left hand on Jedediah’s right thigh. The bed and table are close enough together to allow the contact.

He adds a persuasive tone to his voice and slants his eyes sideways. “Having you by my side, supporting me in this venture would please me greatly.”

Jedediah blinks and cocks his head, and Octavius knows he’s got him.

He tilts his chin, revealing a long column of throat, noting Jedediah’s gaze following the movement. For a few seconds, nothing is said; Jedediah flicks his gaze away from Octavius, then back, then away again.  

Jedediah gives no answer. He glances over with amusement in his eyes and breaks into an abashed grin.

That smile goes straight through Octavius.  It is the one he fell in love with. His mouth stretches. He feels warm and tingly and weak.

With a shy tilt of his jaw, Jedediah murmurs, “I’ll think on it.”

Octavius kisses him, a soft brush of lips. Leaning back, he mouths, _“Thank you.”_

An impish glint appears in Jedediah’s eyes and he returns to writing. When he glances back, Octavius is still grinning at him, love lights shining from his gaze.

Jedediah purses his lips. “Ah, heck with it.” He tosses his journal aside and pounces.

A grunt escapes Octavius, arms flying up automatically, curling around Jedediah’s torso, steadying him.

“Jedediah!” All though, the chastisement sounds more like _Jeda-DIAH!_

Jedediah tilts his head, turning blameless eyes to him. He smiles sweetly. It is a ruse. _“Hmm?”_

He shifts to straddle Octavius’s lap, knees to either side of him.

Lowering his chin, he leans in, mouth brushing Octavius’s neck. His voice is a whisper. “You were sayin’ there, hoss? How’s about we work on gettin’ me outta my fancy-shmancy get-up?”

“Oh!” Octavius’s face splits into a wide grin. “Yes, please.” He nods. “Thank you.”

Jedediah laughs, and Octavius’s smile deepens. His love has always been amused by his politeness.

With deliberate slowness, Jedediah removes his vest and unbuttons his flimsy blue shirt, pulling it off and tossing it over the side of their bed.

Octavius maneuvers, leaning back, using his heels and elbows, shifting toward the middle of the mattress, pulling Jedediah along with him.

So perhaps the sex fog hasn’t entirely lifted.

Jedediah takes full advantage of his straddled position. With an impertinent grin, he sits back and rolls his pelvis against Octavius, hinting.

It sends a shudder through them both. Octavius groans, his hands shifting to Jedediah’s hips, fingers tightening, thumbs stroking.

He fiddles, undoing Jedediah's breeches, knuckles brushing against skin.

He pushes them down and Jedediah's hands help, shoving his breeches and undergarments past his hips.

Placing his palms on either side of Octavius, Jedediah leans down a little to peer at him, blond hair falling into his eyes. His gaze is steady, amusement still prevalent.

Not one for letting a challenge stand, Octavius unleashes his restraint. He responds by flipping Jedediah onto his back.

Positions now reversed, Octavius grins wickedly, a laugh rumbling deep in his chest.

He slides down, slipping his arms under Jedediah's thighs. Gripping leather, he jerks Jedediah flush against him.

The action stuns Jedediah into silence — but only for a moment.

Blinking, he recovers and huffs out a laugh. “Wow. You're so dominant,” he says in awe. His eyes practically glow. “Raawrrrl!”

Jedediah makes as though to bite Octavius, clacking his teeth together. Octavius chuckles, and then is abruptly pulled down.

* * *

_Later…_

Baby leans his broad head into the Old West diorama. He lets out a deep grumble of a growl and opens his jaws to reveal Cookie still kicking and hopping within his maw.

Arms crossed, and with one knuckle propped under his chin, Octavius arches an eyebrow in a look of strained patience. His paludamentum lifts because the wind is currently perturbed.

Jedediah rests his hands on his waist, hip cocked, weight planted. His stance is stern and unyielding.

Cookie trots toward them, looking somewhat repentant now that he has been caught once again exploring the vast and untamed museum on his own. He blows air through his nose.

He is very definitely Roman, peering between the pair, searching for an ally.

Silent, Octavius and Jedediah stand beside each other, a powerfully united front.

“What’d we tell ya about usin’ the buddy system?” Jedediah asks. His voice is deceivingly calm, but his words are clipped and quiet.

The death pig sits at Octavius’s sandaled feet, oinking his upset with staccato open mouthed grunts.

Staring meaningfully at Cookie, Octavius slowly points toward the wall to the saloon.

Baby’s massive head rises up. He bellows. It is a deafening sound within the diorama.

“Nose to the wall, little mister,” Jedediah says to the colt.

Irate, Assassin rushes forward, his little brown legs a blur. He squeals a strident reproach at the baby like a militant nursemaid and nips at the colt’s hooves.

Cookie paws at the sun-scorched earth. His expression is sour. If he were physically capable, he would have cocked an eyebrow in consternation. As it is, he blows air out through his nose again. Then he flattens his ears, arches his back, and kicks a back leg, stirring up the dust.

* * *

_Later…_

There are no sounds to be heard other than harsh, panting breaths and the knocking of wood against canvas and leather.

Octavius’s training blade connects with Jedediah’s shield. They bounce off of each other.

Jedediah is tiring. Octavius brings his wrist back for another strike, the gladius stabbing with mechanical precision.

The shield bearing the insignia of Rome comes up, but Jedediah’s positioning is slowing, becoming weary and uncertain.

Octavius alters course. He lifts the palm of his other hand and steps forward, attempting to reposition Jedediah and instruct him properly, but his friend rolls his shoulders, fending off the help.

Jedediah waves his palm, frustration making him stubborn. “I got it, I got it.”

His hair is soaked with sweat. Red splotches of exertion are beginning to appear on his face. He shakes his head, trying to clear his vision, whipping his hair out of his eyes and sidestepping impatiently from foot to foot. “Come on, let’s go.”

Octavius stabs.

Jedediah brings his shield up, protecting his right side. “Why don’t I get a sword, again?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the blade. “I’d find it awfully handy right about now!”

The sword _thwacks_ off the leather canvas.

Straightening, Octavius twists his wrist, flicking the wooden blade adeptly in his hand. He pokes at Jedediah, jabbing him backward. Jedediah steps back, tight-lipped. “Because I want you to first learn how to block my sword thrusts with the shield.”

The sword lifts, strikes, lifts, changes angles, lifts and strikes, stabbing and chopping in quick succession, each attack buffered by the canvas.

Jedediah ducks another blow, rolls, and springs to his feet.

Octavius’s heart clenches at the horrific memory of blood on stone, and he raises his weapon again, sword sweeping back and forth in a blaze of faux steel.

Slashing left and right in rapid succession, he backs Jedediah up.

The wooden sword _whooshes_ through the air, swinging toward Jedediah’s neck.

It glances off the quickly lifted shield, but the strike is a close one, coming within a hair’s breadth to spare.

Jedediah peeks wide eyes over the rim of the stretched canvas. He blinks, the shield trembling from the tension in his hands.

Then he hastily dances backward, well out of striking distance.

With a look of shock, he drops his armament as though it is on fire. He takes a running leap and grabs a branch from an apple tree, swinging up.

He hooks his legs over a higher, sturdier branch, springs sideways toward an outcropping of boulders, landing in a half-crouch.

Now out of easy reach, he sits hard, crossed-legged. He pants in ragged, irregular gasps.

Octavius lowers his sword, also gulping for air from his exertions. He waits patiently for his nearest and dearest to catch his breath.

Jedediah is silent, watching him, wary. At last, his breath evens and he says, “I'm gettin’ the distinct impression that despite all your subtlety, there’s more goin’ on here than meets the eye.”

Octavius inwardly flinches. He shakes his head, demurring with a wave of his hand. “I am merely showing you a few moves.”

“Bull!” Jedediah shouts, perceptive. His nose scrunches up. “You’ve been tryin’ to maim me or either whack my head off all dang night. What’s the problem! Are we quarrelin’ and you forgot ta’ tell me?”

“There is no quarrel. Nor do I have any desire for one.”

Jedediah relaxes slightly, although his defenses remain up.

“Then what’s on your mind?” He squints, tilting his head. “Ockie, is something wrong? Is there trouble brewin’ back home?” He cocks his head to the other side. “Tell me honestly.” His expression is serious. He swallows convulsively. “Is being with me gettin’ under your boys’ skin?”

Octavius thinks over his answer carefully.

“No. There is not malcontent from the Roman quarter. At least nothing overtly serious.” He lifts a shoulder. “Petty disagreements here and there. The typical clashes between strong-willed men forced into close proximity and association for decades on end,” he answers truthfully. “As for what you are alluding to, there are no mutterings. No restlessness. No secret whispers in dark corners.”

Jedediah lifts his palms up. “Then, why!” His voice has a broken edge to it. “Why are ya comin’ at me so hard? It’s like you’re killin’ snakes!”

Octavius drops his gaze.

“Because regardless of the relative content in Rome and the peace forged between dioramas, I come from a time where betrayal was commonplace and political climates were ever shifting. When I never knew who could be lurking in the shadows. Never knowing whose duplicity would cut the deepest in the end, all while I fought to appear and remain unmoved.”

His voice shakes with passion, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He grips his sword hilt in his hands, as though throttling it, and dares to bring his eyes up. His eyes burn and his throat constricts too tightly for more words to escape.

Frown lines crease Jedediah’s brow. He regards Octavius in silence. His eyes flicker as though searching for the truth in Octavius’s words. Finds it. His blue eyes hold compassion.  

Recovering his composure, Octavius calms and continues evenly. _“That_ is why I desire you to learn how to defend yourself against Roman weaponry, and why I wish to teach you how to _use_ them. I am being proactive for anything that may arise in the future. This is what we do. We look out for each other.”

Jedediah meets Octavius’s gaze. He swallows.

Octavius goes on to add, “And it is true. I _do_ desire to share this part of myself with you. To share my interests —” He stops. “The experience would be...special. And deeply personal for me.”

After a brief hesitation, Jedediah exhales on a loud gust of breath. He rubs his forehead, and then splays out on his back, spent.

Lifting up his index finger, he says, _“Un minuto, por favor._ Gimme a minute. I'll be down in a bit.”

* * *

_Later..._

“Ya sneaky, shifty-eyed, sandal-footed serpent! You and your dad-blame Roman wiles!”

The weapons training is not going well. The movements are too much like dancing for Jedediah’s liking and he's dug in his heels, an immovable force, refusing to learn anymore.

He glares over his shoulder, panting in simmering indignation.

“Darling,” Octavius reasons, “I did not _trick_ you into anything.”

“Bull!” Jedediah flares. He whirls around, shooting Octavius a baleful look. His chin juts out; his voice drops to a scathing whisper. “Whataya call _this!”_

He throws his Stetson to the ground, and then bounds from side to side, feet sidestepping in a frenzied movement that could almost be described as a very angry waltz.

Octavius’s lips part. His beloved’s movements are liquid. Jedediah speeds up, dancing in a burst of frenetic energy.

Abruptly, Jedediah stops, panting. He balls one hand into a tight fist, while the other holds the hilt of his sword in a death grip. Lifting his head, he screams to the heavens, _“I — can’t — dance!”_

“You can!” Octavius counters. Jedediah glowers, gaze tracking Octavius as he circles him.

Octavius swishes his sword, ignoring the foul temper.

He points his finger, cutting off Jedediah’s retort.

“Yes, you can! You can do anything you set your mind to.” He lifts his palm. “You know the moves! You’ve simply convinced yourself you cannot dance or engage in swordplay. But you can! I’ve seen you!

“Instead of listening to me and going with what feels natural, you overthink _everything!_ It’s only causing you to trip over yourself like a rampaging buffoon!”

The air crackles to life around them.

Eyes wide, pupils blown, Jedediah tilts his head at the insult. Then he gets back into Octavius’s face, crowding him until they are chest to armored chest. His hair vibrates. “So now the gloves are off, huh?”

Octavius’s gaze flicks to his bare hands. He brings his eyes up. “I haven’t been wearing gloves.”

Not pacified in the slightest by Octavius’s remark, Jedediah tilts his head to the other side, pupils still overblown.

“Who you trying to get crazy with, _ése?”_

His voice is very soft. Dangerously so.

He twirls his index fingers slowly around both sides of his head, at his temples, lifting up errant strands of his tousled, just out-of-bed, tangled blond mop with each circular motion, weaving from side to side in a mesmerizing rhythm only he can fathom.

“Don't ya know I'm _loco?”_

Octavius lifts one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, please, darling.”

He sheathes his wooden sword. Hands balled into fists, he marches after Jedediah who stomps off in a huff, bluff called. Jedediah's desire to flee the argument only vexes Octavius further.

“You are the least _loco_ individual I have ever encountered in all of my days. Your sudden malady is a stratagem, a clever diversion, nothing more, my lovely _little_ lunatic.”

Jedediah stops, whirls back, hair snapping.

His jaw tightens; his spine is made of steel. He squints hard _. “Little!”_ He shakes his head at Octavius. “Now ya gone and done it! D’ya know what you’ve just done?”

Octavius raises his eyebrows and gives him an inquiring look. “It’s hard telling.”

“You’ve gotten on my last nerve!” Jedediah bounces. He raises both of his fists, wooden sword still in hand. The wind blows all around him, whipping his hair. “Don't be callin’ me _little_ less’n you got one of your boys handy ta’ hold me back from givin’ ya a good whuppin’!”

Octavius sniffs. He defies the threat with a set stare and a tight jaw. If Jedediah wishes to play, Octavius can certainly play. He lifts his voice. “Do your worst. I’m not afraid!”

In a move surprising to no one, Jedediah has not thrown a punch. Instead, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His angry blue eyes meet Octavius’s and then he does a theatrical up-and-down evaluation the length of Octavius’s body, sizing him up.  

“Hey, I got a wacky idea,” he says conversationally, abruptly shifting tactics and his tone. It is cheery. It is ominous. “Ya wanna know what I think, hoss? I think I don't need ta’ be learnin’ no self-defense moves from you. I think I can handle myself just fine. And let’s back it up a sec and have ourselves a short, little history lesson here.”

He waves a gloved hand, as though trying to pull memories from the air.

“Remind me again _who_ hogtied _who_ every night for — oh, I don’t know — nigh on twenty-some-odd years before we up and decided ta’ get sweet on each other!”

“It was a ploy, you realize. A deliberate seduction. I allowed your manhandling only so I could ensnare you with glimpses of my manly _Roman_ thighs!” He lifts his closed fist dramatically in triumph. “Thighs that could crack walnuts!”

“Ho, boy!” Jedediah snorts rudely. “In your dreams, pal!”

Octavius lifts his chin.

Remaining dignified and imperial, he sucks in a breath for a powerful, motivational speech when Jedediah glares down at his wooden sword, a scream of rage rising high in his throat.

His hair vibrates minutely once more, shoulders quaking, steam building from within for something truly colossal.

He hurls his training weapon into the packed dirt in a fit of pique.

“Jedediah!” Octavius chastises.

Jedediah stomps off.

An instant later, he’s marching back, grabbing, and pushing Octavius against one of the many boulders adjacent to their tent, pressing close as though attempting to barrel straight through him.

He surges forward, his mouth slamming over Octavius’s lips in a fierce kiss.

Octavius squeaks, eyes flying open. His mind goes blank.

Jedediah is insistent, slanting his mouth over Octavius’s, dragging his lips across his. He coaxes him with his tongue, demanding access.

Octavius seizes Jedediah by the vest, dragging him closer. He parts his lips and Jedediah’s unique masculine taste fires his nerves.

Jedediah plunders his mouth, kissing him deeply.

Octavius slips his arms around Jedediah’s neck, clinging as Jedediah’s hands wander, gripping and kneading his rump, pressing their groins closer.

Octavius twists his fingers, tangling around strands of Jedediah’s blond hair.

Their tongues duel.

Jedediah breaks the kiss, both of them needing oxygen. They each draw ragged, open-mouthed breaths.

Octavius gazes up, lips bruised and tingling pleasantly. Tilting his head back, he closes his eyes as Jedediah resumes his assault on his defenses. He shivers at the sensation of Jedediah’s breath ghosting over his ear.

“I am, ya know,” Jedediah says between kisses, sweeping his lips back over Octavius’s. His approach is softer now, slower, and gentler. He pulls back and scans Octavius’s face, looking him squarely in the eyes. “Sweet on ya. I’ve taken quite the shine.”

Anger abated, his voice is a low murmur. The soft southern drawl tingles over Octavius like a caress.

Octavius shudders, eyes softening. He tenderly glides his fingers along Jedediah's stubbled jaw line. His hand slides to curl around the back of Jedediah’s neck, squeezing and massaging gently. “I love you more than life.” Then he swallows convulsively and drops his hand. His gaze meets Jedediah's, stripped raw and vulnerable. He bows his head. “It is immaterial how skilled a fighter you are, I shall always —”

Jedediah swoops in and cuts off Octavius with another hard kiss. He pulls back and touches their foreheads together. “Sshhh. Not now.” His lips slide over Octavius’s mouth, skimming cheek to jaw line.

Octavius closes his eyes. Jedediah steps back. Octavius’s eyes open. “If ya didn’t hear me the first time, I’m through with all your fancy-footin’ tonight. So why doncha show me what else ya got, machismo?”

And so Octavius does. Inspired, he marches Jedediah backward into their tent, jerking the flaps closed behind him.

* * *

_Later…_

“I ain’t comin’ out!”

The wind has been stirred to wakefulness.

Octavius stands outside the storefront as a tumbleweed bounces along its merry path in front of him. His attention is momentarily diverted by the migrating thistle ball. He arches an eyebrow.

Once the tumbleweed passes, he lifts his head back to the shop. “Jedediah, I dressed in cowboy attire for you.”

From inside the store, there is a muffled screaming sound. A heavily rural-accented voice shouts, “I don’t care. You ain’t gettin’ me outside in public like this. I’m butt-naked!”

The shouts rouse the attention of several passersby.

Townsfolk snap their heads, craning their necks. A woman in white twirls her parasol squinting up the steps.

Octavius watches them all with a vague interest, then rolls his wrist, wiggling his fingers, shooing the townsfolk along.

He turns back to the shop. “Darling —”

“No!”

Octavius straightens his shoulders. A long quiet follows. He opens his mouth to coax Jedediah out when Jedediah shouts, “No!”

“Jedediah…”

“No!”

Exhaling sharply, Octavius stiffens his spine. “Right,” he says assertively. “Then I’m coming in.”  

_“What!”_

Clattering noises erupt from inside the structure. Glass breaks. It is followed by a pained yowl and the patter of naked feet against wooden planks. Octavius imagines Jedediah scrambling and diving for cover.

His own spurs jingle as he slowly climbs the stairs, unhurriedly swinging his arms behind his back. Hinges creak as he cautiously pushes the shop’s door open, sending a jingle of bells echoing throughout the store.

Peeking his head inside, he is met with a dimly lit room with an unmanned wooden counter at the front. The interior overflows with sewing material, bundles of rolled fabric, handbags, an assortment of gloves, wide-brimmed hats, long flannel undergarments, and lace.

The place smells of canvas, oil, and leather.

“‘Diah. It is only me.”

Spurs clinking, he walks without haste through the interior, squinting as his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, peering this way and that, in search of his errant spouse.

“You’re bringin’ the cavalry in with ya!”

Octavius notes the panic in Jedediah’s voice. He follows the sound. Glass crunches underfoot, and he glances down, turning his foot up for inspection.

He picks pieces of glimmering glass from the sole of his boot, the tiny shards tinkling as they hit the floor. Teetering, he wobbles, before lowering his leg and regaining his balance.

He raises his eyes and keeps moving.

Light filters in from a small dust-coated window in the middle of the room, and Octavius sees a trail of flannel, ripped denim, and leather breeches scattered along the floor, a sure sign Jedediah has either tripped in his haste to flee or worked himself into a mini-cyclone. An untamed creature run amok.

“I have brought no one. Only myself. Now where are you?”

“You waltzin’ in here ain’t gonna do a lick a’good. I’m stayin’ right here!”

Octavius ignores the belligerence in Jedediah’s tone or the way each word rises to a new octave. He crouches, peering under racks, pulling aside clothes, searching for feet.

Shadows loom in dark corners, storage trunks offering a treasure trove of hiding places for a driven, beleaguered spouse.

Octavius cranes his neck, gaze roving to the far side of the darkened store where he can just make out more cloth and sewing supplies stocked against the wall.

Easing forward, he holds his breath, listening for signs of his quarry. He keeps on the move.

Straining his eyes into the dim room, Octavius turns his head sharply at the _whoosh_ of displaced air and the _swish_ of saloon-style batwing doors swinging back and forth.

Octavius brightens. “Ah! The changing rooms.”

“This is the worst idea you ever had.”

“You are taking this entirely out of proportion. As usual.”

_“Hell!”_

Octavius ambles past the stockroom, spying movement, a darker shadow and the pale flash of bare feet disappearing from under the changing room door. No doubt Jedediah pulling himself up so as not to be seen, palms pressed flat to either side of the walls like a high strung cat, curved sinews and hard muscles straining.

 _“Mmm...”_ Octavius closes his eyes, tilting his head, momentarily distracted by the mental image. “Glorious.”

He shakes himself.

“And it was not my idea, but yours, love,” he reminds amicably. “An _anniversary_ gift, if I recall. One year tonight. The townspeople are preparing fireworks and picnic items for the occasion. The Fourth of July, your favorite of holidays.”

He hears movement, naked feet landing on the wooden floor, Jedediah dropping down from the wall.

Following the noise, he leans gingerly against the changing room door and knocks. “You realize,” he begins nonchalantly, “you’ll have to come out sooner or later.”

When Jedediah does not answer, Octavius slowly opens the door. Hinges creak as he slips inside. “I have an anniversary gift for you.”

Jedediah has his back turned, facing the opposite direction. His arms are folded. The hunched posture makes him appear much smaller than he is. “I don’t want it.” The words are softly spoken.

“Nonsense.” Octavius places a hand on Jedediah’s arm.

Jedediah jerks, rolling his shoulder. “Stop it. I don’t want ya seein’ me in this get-up. I look ridiculous.”

“Turn around.” Octavius tries again, smoothing his hand down Jedediah’s arm. The cloth his palm is met with is feather light and folded delicately.

Octavius’s eyes are adjusting to the darkness, but shadows play. Jedediah’s tousled mop needs arranging. It is more wild than usual, but the dim lighting makes it appear as though Jedediah’s head is crowned in laurel leaves.

Jedediah tosses his hair out of his eyes and the illusion shatters. He whirls around, jaw clenched, blue eyes blazing, arms still crossed over his chest.

Octavius’s own eyes widen as he is met with the sight of his most cherished fantasy made flesh.  

It is Jedediah from his mind’s eye. The one from his own time period, the one he dreamed of growing up with. The one in the light blue toga.

Octavius’s lips part. Speechless, he can only stare.

The dim light within the tailor’s shop and the shafts of artificial sun drifting in from the far window create interesting shadows. The slatted doors make Jedediah appear both fierce and otherworldly. And so very, very Roman.

Struck dumb, Octavius closes his mouth.

His hands shake. They lift to his mouth of their own accord, so overwhelmed is he by the man standing before him.

“It’s you!”

Jedediah stares fixedly at the ground. Even in the gloom Octavius can see Jedediah is blushing. Hard.

At the exclamation, Jedediah’s gaze flies up, meeting Octavius’s stare from under his mussed bangs.

Aggravation steels his nerves and he rolls his head, spreading his arms wide and then dropping them at his sides. “Of course, it’s me.” He pauses a moment, perceptive. _“Wait! —”_ His brow knits. “What’re we talkin’ about?”

The Jedediah of Octavius’s fantasies and the Jedediah who shares Octavius’s life are one and the same. The only difference is that the one of fantasy hides his bashfulness behind knowing, secret smiles.

His Roman gaze is more insightful, perhaps, ancient in a way Jedediah’s own eyes are not, having seen far too many human atrocities.

Octavius shakes his head, clearing his mind of a past that never was. “Nevermind.”

His gaze softens and shines. Filled with pride for his spouse, he takes his anniversary gift out of the pocket of his leather duster and affixes it to Jedediah’s toga at the shoulder.

Jedediah peers down. Frown lines crease his brow.

“It is a brooch,” Octavius supplies.

“Squiggly lines,” Jedediah observes of the brooch’s face, peering at it from upside down.

The gift is simple and modest. There are no embedded jewels or finery symbolizing rank or status, simply wavy lines carved delicately onto the face.

“It represents you, of course. The wind.”

Jedediah rubs a hand over his mouth and jaw. A smile flickers, and then disappears. “T-t-thanks.”

Octavius grins, knowing that Jedediah is secretly pleased. He steps back, marveling.

“You are exquisite,” he says, voice cracking with passion.

Jedediah snaps his head up.

Octavius looks away. He shudders, focusing inward, recovering his composure.

He turns back and pats Jedediah’s chest once, falling back on the security of their playful banter. “You realize, love. My gift could’ve easily been a marble statue erected in the center of the city in your honor.” His mouth quirks. “He would bear your likeness, your precise measurements — wearing nothing but a pair of speedos.” Teasing, he leans forward, and quietly intones, “It still could be.”

“You didn’t — you wouldn’t!” Jedediah rolls his head again. “Son, I’ll —”

“He might have sprang to life and taken his first breath this very evening.” He tucks his thumbs in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I ought to go check.”

Jedediah bares his teeth, bends forward, and grabs the hem of his toga.

He attempts to sweep past Octavius, but is blocked.

Trapped, he storms to the opposite corner like a caged lion. He paces, folding his arms over his chest again. “Ockie, I swear ta’ God!”

Octavius simply chuckles. He still loves teasing Jedediah. Loves watching the feistiness flare into his eyes. In Jedediah’s veins runs the blood of the pack. Octavius lifts his head high. “Such a stunning, feral creature.”

Jedediah bares his teeth again, growling in a distinctly threatening undertone.

At least he’s forgotten his mortification over feeling naked.

Jedediah isn’t naked, of course. He only thinks he is. Truthfully, he couldn’t be a more conservatively dressed Roman. There are simply more folds and flowing fabric. And his feet and ankles are showing. A bit of neck and shoulder.

He is magnificent.

“Alas, your marble likeness is but an idol fantasy.” Octavius bobs his head and winks. “Perhaps next anniversary.”

Gloriously lively, Jedediah swipes Octavius’s Stetson off his head and swats him with it.

The swat goes unnoticed, Octavius falling back into an enamored state, mesmerized, gazing at the living dream that is Jedediah in his simple blue toga. His eyes shine.

Jedediah realizes his efforts are in vain and stills. He slaps the Stetson back on Octavius's head and breathes hard, color dotting his cheeks.

Even in the dim light shining in through that far window, Jedediah appears ethereal.

He's every bit on par with the many visions Octavius has had of him, and more.

Octavius closes his eyes briefly and when they open, for a moment he is a youth again, staring and grinning sweetly up at this strange, pouting blond boy in his rumpled toga who wants nothing more than to knock Octavian flat on his back.

“My heart…”

Feisty, Jedediah twists the loose collar of his toga, bunching it at his throat with his fist. A moment later, he loses his scrappiness and his eyes flick to the floor.

His face heats at Octavius’s intense perusal. He squints and rolls his head again. “Would ya please quit giving me them goo-goo eyes!”

Octavius nods to himself, besotted. Overcome by a wave of passion, he announces, “I must look upon you in the full light of Rome!” He bends his knees and hauls Jedediah over his shoulder.

“What!” Jedediah kicks his legs. “Put me down right now, Ockie! Right now!”

He is ignored.

“Octy? _Angel?_ — **_Octo-drawers!”_**

Octavius bursts through the batwing doors, strides heroically through the storeroom, kicks —

Jedediah lifts his head. “‘Tavius, I will whup your backside if you kick down that door! I swear I will!”

Chin held high, Octavius opens the door of the tailor’s shop thoughtfully, swinging it wide, and gallops down the steps, spurs clinking.

Jedediah screeches in his ear.

“I swear ta’ God! If your manhandling makes me lose this bedsheet you call a toga out here in the wild blue, I’ll —!”

Jedediah’s threats are drowned out by the snickering and the hearty chuckles coming from the American encampment. Octavius can just make out fragments of conversation.

 _“Whelp, boys. They’re at it again”_ — followed by several low hums, catcalls, and long suffering whistles of others conferring in agreement.

One voice pipes up above the rest. _“Ye great honkin’ eejits. Have they ever stopped?”_

_“Wash your face, love."_

_"Kiss me arse!"_

Malachi has a point. They have never stopped. Octavius has simply gained more stamina, catching his second, or possibly his third, or fourth or fifth wind.

“Personal bubble!” Jedediah rants. “If ya don’t snap out of your twitterpated state, I’ll seize ya by your dad-gum ears! Put me down before I bite ya! I’ll bite ya on the hind end!”

Experience has taught Octavius this is a serious threat and one Jedediah can and will follow through with if given the opportunity.

A fierce wind kicks up, whipping Jedediah's toga. It smacks Octavius in the face. Octavius beams.

“You once informed me that you had never bitten anyone,” he says conversationally. “And then you went and took a bite from my person.”

“And I’d do it again, too! Ya know I ain’t never bitten anybody in my life. Not nobody! Not ever! Not until you! I had myself an even temper until I met you! You! You, you, you—!”

“Words, love. Use them.”

Jedediah shouts back in another language. Octavius is uncertain, but he believes he may have been told off in Mandarin.

Wiggling and flailing uselessly, Jedediah yells. “You and me's gonna tussle real soon, pally. _Real_ soon! Nobody gets ta’ see me _au naturel_ but you! I took a vow!”

Dirt devils spiral, swirling out of control.

Jedediah bounces up and down on Octavius’s shoulder as Octavius lifts him higher, keeping his teeth well away from his vulnerable rump.

The ground trembles and the earth shakes. It is followed by a low, rumbling clicking sound.

Jedediah stills, his muscles becoming as rigid and unyielding as iron. He braces himself against Octavius’s back, pushing himself up slightly.

The wind dies. They both peer up, up, and _up_.

Jedediah's tone abruptly shifts back to normal, calm and mild. “How’s my sweet little country darlin’?”

Baby shyly rumbles, and then barks twice. He cranes his massive head, tail flicking slowly from side to side, his eternal grin on full display.

The smile on Octavius’s face is deep. “Poppet! There you are! What have you been doing with yourself all evening?”

Baby cranes his neck around to pluck a rib bone from his skeleton. Snapping his head, he shakes the bone playfully. He flips it high in the air, and then catches it, tail still wagging.

Octavius gasps, face contorting in exaggerated wonder, like he's done a thousand times before. “Bravo, my pet! Splendid! Well done!”

Jedediah agrees, equally as enthusiastic. “Wow! That was a real nice catch there, baby-darlin’. Mighty fine!”

Baby preens at the attention. He lowers his head, making a soft cooing sound, followed by another loud bark. His huge bony tail wags faster, swinging through the air, whipping and snapping, blowing out the Mayans’ sacred flame.

Mayans shriek.

“Why, thank ya, kindly, Doodlebug!”

Regardless of the gender swap, the dinosaur remains their sensitive child, fretting and becoming anxious when there is perceived friction within the household. The poor, sweet, innocent, dear, little lamb.

Jedediah snaps his head in Octavius’s direction, and quietly intones, “He says he approves of the switcheroo.” He jerks his head back around to Baby. “Don’t go getting used to it now. This here’s a one shot. For our anniversary.”

Baby coos once more and leans his broad skull into the Old West. His head ducks down in a slow arc, and he takes a careful sniff.

Jedediah’s toga is whipped into another sudden windstorm, snapping and smacking Octavius in the back of the head and knocking off his Stetson.

Powerful jaws open.

With infinite tenderness, Baby snags a portion of Jedediah’s toga between his teeth, rumbling softly with each breath, and lifts him into the air, off Octavius’s shoulder.

“Hey, hey! Wait a dang minute! No, Baby! I ain't decent! _—_ ”

Jedediah screams, swinging from side to side. The finely-toned muscles in his arms ripple in tight cords as he clutches fiercely to the cloth, holding the delicate folds in place.

“Dagnabit! You’re just like your daddy! No, ya don't hafta be seeing what I look like in Rome! Baby, this here ain't done in polite society!”

Baby pivots in one solid move, causing Jedediah to rock back and forth mightily at the sudden stop.

Jedediah loses his grip on the delicate material and screams, flailing his arms at the wild freefall.

In his desperation, Jedediah twists like an acrobat, grappling with the toga. He grips it tightly, bunching the cloth together again.

He whips his head, shouting a warning at the Roman sentinels. “Look out, boys! Bony stampede coming through!”

Sentinels dive out of the way. Officers turn and run, scattering as Baby lowers his broad head and gently places Jedediah down in the middle of Rome.

A piece of the toga snags on one of Baby’s sharp fangs. Jedediah indignantly yanks it free, clutching the entire ensemble together.

Every pair of Roman eyes stares at him.

Jedediah instantly crouches down into a ball, bunching his loose collar closed; covering his knees, ankles, and toes.

Embarrassment sharpens his voice. “Eyes front and center, boys! This sight ain’t for the faint of heart!”

With Jedediah given the authority of the emperor by marriage, the highly disciplined officers instantly snap to attention and avert their gazes. They beat their fists against their armor plated chests in a salute. There is not one snicker.

Satisfied, Jedediah bunches up the hem of his toga and sprints off at a frantic clip toward the sanctuary of the gardens.

Octavius observes that Bill is in Rome visiting Felix. The cowboy’s head swivels back and forth between the swirling, light blue fabric that is Jedediah on the move, and his paramour, jaw swinging open. He gawks, a look of perplexity spreading across his face, casting appraising glances at Jedediah.

His face splits in a wide smile.

Still facing front, Felix’s gaze darkens. His jaw clenches, lips curling into a thin line. He closes Bill’s jaw for him and turns his head until it is swiveled entirely in his direction. Then he inhales deeply and pats Bill’s jaw. Mouth quirked, he appears satisfied.

Octavius arches an eyebrow and clears his throat, gaining their child’s attention. He holds his arms out. “Poppet, if you please?”

Baby’s head lowers once more, leaning over and opening his maw. Octavius bends down and swipes the Stetson off the floor. He smacks the cowboy hat against his knee, slapping the dust off the brim. Then he tips the Stetson back onto his head, and climbs in.

He is instantly transported to Rome and set down gently.

“You are just like your papa,” he praises. _Because it’s true._

He pauses only long enough to stroke his child’s bony skull, and then follows after Jedediah at a more sedate pace.

At first, he believes he may have lost him and that he has stalked out of the gardens altogether. That is until a twig snaps and leaves rain down on his leather clad shoulder.

He peers up, finding Jedediah pouting, staring straight ahead, in the tree above him.

With a sigh, Octavius climbs up and settles in beside him, but not before removing the leather duster and draping it around Jedediah’s shoulders. The gesture is intimate.

Jedediah’s gaze flickers, but he says nothing.

“I should have done that before we left the tailor’s shop. But I was so overcome…” Octavius pauses, clearing his throat. “I was so distracted by your great beauty —”

Jedediah whips his head, eyes blazing blue flames through his bangs. His hair vibrates. He opens his mouth, ready to blast him.

Unafraid, Octavius reaches up, gently moving Jedediah’s hair from his eyes, enjoying the feel of the silky strands against his fingers. “I became overstimulated.”

Jedediah closes his eyes and bows his head. He makes an incomprehensible sound, and then clears his throat. He sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. His voice gentles.

“Ya look real nice,” he says at last.

Octavius inclines his head. He leans in close to quietly intone, “I think you look sublime.”

Without fail, Jedediah opens his mouth to protest, but Octavius swiftly cups his chin and kisses him quiet, softly. “You do, my love. In every way, blue is your color.”

He lets Jedediah’s chin go, and leans back, giving him some space.

Jedediah is silent, biting his lip.

At last, he scoots closer to Octavius, wrapping his arms around Octavius’s middle, burying his face against his neck.

Octavius embraces Jedediah tightly, knowing this is his friend’s easiest way of thanking him. His heart warms. For all of the high drama and his fits, Jedediah was still thoughtful and courageous enough to at least entertain the notion of dressing as a Roman citizen. _For him._

“I can’t believe it’s been a year,” Jedediah says into Octavius’s throat.

“And we have not murdered each other. I consider that a win.”

Jedediah snorts, manner becoming playful. “Oh, that’s coming next year when you erect that statue of me wearin’ speedos. I can guarantee it.”

Octavius laughs.

After a beat, he glances down. His eyes pinch in memory and a small, sad smile twists his lips, gaze turning inward. “I have but one regret. One thing I wish I could change.”

Jedediah frowns. “What’s that?”

A flicker of emotions passes over Octavius’s face before going blank. “That Julia could not be here with us.”

Jedediah sits up, blinking.

Octavius eyes Jedediah up and down. “She would have adored you.”

Jedediah smiles a secret smile. Sad. His gaze turns so somber Octavius does a double-take at the visage. He lets out a small gasp.

Brow furrowing, Jedediah turns his head to stare straight out in front of him. He works his jaw, and then glances down.

“I woulda adored her, too,” he says at last, rubbing his palms against his knees. “Treated her like she was my own.”

Octavius nods once, gaze turned inward again. “I know.”

Jedediah tilts his head, giving Octavius a long, speculative look. “You don’t know that. I could be mean. How could ya know?”

Shifting back to the present, Octavius does not mention his glorious, impossible dreams, or Jedediah’s extraordinary proclivities toward adoption even while highly intoxicated.

Instead, he lifts his chin regally. With an entirely contrived, pompous air, he jiggles his head from side to side and states emphatically, “Because I am very old and wise.”

Jedediah snorts, and bumps his shoulder. “Goofball.”

Octavius bumps back and feels the first tentative hand stroke his back.

As the fireworks and celebrations begin one diorama over, he listens to the _pops_ , _crackles, fizzles_ , and _booms_ , and watches the spectrum of light play over the, once again, newly restored deeply brown bench.

He thinks the powers that be should give that dreadful bench up as a lost cause. It is only going to wind up being destroyed again anyway.

After a few moments of silence, he loses all pretense of silliness and superiority, inhaling deeply. He wishes he could turn back time.

His chin quivers.

He sucks in a sharp breath, sitting up straighter. The line of his spine is very near perfect. Regal. He holds his head high.

Closing his eyes, his jaw goes rigid. He realizes he should be the good and proper spouse. Attentive. Suggest they return to the Old West in order to enjoy the fireworks Jedediah so adores on the holiday he loves best. Selfishly, he is grateful Jedediah has not mentioned the lapse.

Octavius opens his eyes and looks blindly out at the Roman gardens. He and Jedediah’s youngest have not been tasked with making certain the museum loses power this year and the artificial sun is high and bright, reflecting off leaves and blades of grass, making green appear gold.

Illusion.

Somehow sensing Octavius’s flippant nature is merely a ruse, Jedediah continues stroking his back. He murmurs something sweet, his voice low.

Octavius looks back at him. Vulnerability shines from Jedediah’s eyes, but there is a certain knowing compassion hidden behind his gaze. Jedediah’s expression is very old. And very kind.

With another sigh, Octavius splays his hands across Jedediah’s chest, feeling the soft folds of the delicate fabric under his palm, and the familiar hard outline of his body underneath.  

One last shallow gasp of breath rattles in Octavius’s chest, and then he is barreled under by a sudden wave of grief.

Guilt slams into him, almost stopping his heart. His fingers curl into talons, bunching the light blue toga in an iron grip so tight his fist shakes, loosening the toga’s fold at Jedediah’s shoulder.

Vision blurring in and out of focus, his breath hitches.

Jedediah holds him, rubbing his back, whispering, “It’s alright. I gotcha, I gotcha. It’s okay ta’ let go.”

And so Octavius does. It is a terrible thing.

Shoulders and chest laid bare, Jedediah’s modesty is momentarily forgotten. Drawing Octavius closer, he breathes an endless stream of murmurs against his temple. He rocks Octavius until screams become sobs.

Clutching one hand to his own chest, Octavius wishes upon a dream.

* * *

_Later…_

Sufficiently recovered from his grief, Octavius lifts his cheek from Jedediah’s shoulder. He wipes his face, and then blinks. Eyeing Jedediah’s naked chest, he clicks his tongue in bemusement.

“No tunic,” he admonishes.

Jedediah glances down. Reddens. He shrugs, sheepish. “I guess the thought of you seein’ me like this got me so riled I forgot.”

His subtle, discreet glances at Octavius are endearing. Nevertheless, Octavius lifts his eyes toward the heavens and implores the gods.

Focusing once more on Jedediah, he arches an eyebrow. “Did you at least remember your undergarments?”

Teasing, he pulls the flowing fabric away from Jedediah’s torso, poking his head inside the toga to be sure.

Jedediah bucks.

He tries to wiggle back, squirming and thrashing and jerking with flailing limbs, but they are still in a tree and he doesn’t get very far. Beginning to fall, he slips sideways, but Octavius catches and rights him.

He scrunches up in intense embarrassment, a mixture of surprise and outraged modesty comically frozen on his face. “What in the dad-blame world! Not in public!” He swats repeatedly at Octavius’s hands, laughing profusely.

Wrestling with Jedediah’s toga becomes a game. They play tug-of-war with the delicate material for a few moments, but the roughhousing doesn’t last long.

Octavius relinquishes his hold and pulls back, amused. He eyes Jedediah critically. Then he sighs. Chiding, he clicks his tongue. “Sometimes I despair of you.”

If anyone roaming the Hall listened, _really listened,_ to his tone and not his words, they would not hear derision or even an insult, but the rich amusement hidden within the comment.

Desiring his spouse to be presentable, he fusses. He removes the duster from around Jedediah’s shoulders and places it carefully on his own lap. Then he finesses the toga back together, smoothing away wrinkles, and repinning his anniversary gift to the folds of fabric. He fastens the brooch in such a way as to hold the toga securely together this time.

Jedediah grows still, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. His warm blue eyes twinkle while he watches Octavius fondly, humoring him.

Satisfied at last, Octavius’s eyes flick, and then he presses his lips in the space over Jedediah's beating heart. He leans back and pats Jedediah's chest.

His beloved’s face has softened.

Octavius's gaze flicks again. “So I have an idea.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “A game, if you will.”

A gleam of interest sparks in Jedediah’s eyes. “Tell me.”

Octavius leans in, lowering his voice even further. “I’m not the emperor.”

Jedediah looks at him strangely. “Ockie, what are you talkin’ about, course ya are —”

Octavius presses a finger to Jedediah’s lips, he murmurs low and intimate. “I’m not the emperor. I’m not even Roman. I’m…” He trails off, considering. “I’m a British gentleman traveling across the American West. But I seem to have lost my way and have ended up here. With you. In this place.” He frowns, and then allows his eyes to dart. Bringing his attention back to Jedediah, he says sincerely, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I think I can trust you.”

Jedediah grins. Although the lines of his brow and the tilt of his head reveal he is wrestling with this information. “Are you good or bad?”

Octavius smiles, a sly quirk to his lips. “Perhaps a little of both.”

“And me?”

Octavius’s gaze is thoughtful. He leans back, head held high. “You are a stunning vision from the ancient past.”

Jedediah scoffs, rolls his eyes, then thinks better of it and pops Octavius on the arm.

Octavius ignores the jolt, absently rubbing his bicep, continuing his fantastical story. “I wish to know you.” His breath caresses Jedediah’s neck. Coyly, he flicks his gaze. “I wish to know you completely.” He pulls back and frowns. “Who _are_ you?”

Jedediah grins, before pursing his lips in thought for a moment. A calm breeze passes through the tree they sit in, rustling the leaves, and cards gently through Jedediah’s hair. “I —” he pauses, rubbing a palm over his face. “God, I’m terrible at this!” His hand drops. “I don’t know who I’m supposed ta’ be, to be honest.”

Octavius knows better. Jedediah is a wonderful storyteller, but he is on unsteady ground, thrown, never having played this type of game before.

It is of little matter, Octavius does not even have to consider. He leans close, running a palm over Jedediah’s thigh. “You are the emperor’s consort.”

Jedediah’s eyebrows shoot up past his bangs.

“...as well as a teacher, herbalist, and adventurer.”

“Doggone it, I sound fascinating!” Jedediah says, wiggling in his seat, still humoring him. He meets Octavius’s gaze, mischief flirting in his eyes.

Octavius hums a reply, the sound rich with undercurrent.

His gaze slides from Jedediah’s eyes, gliding over cheekbones to the light dusting of stubble shading Jedediah’s jaw line.

Launching into to full blown, blatant flirtation, he tilts his head, breath a little uneven. “Is there somewhere we can go where I can have my wicked way with you?”

Jedediah chuckles as Octavius places soft kisses against his neck and shoulder. He lifts his chin to allow better access. _“Mmm._ Golly, that’s mighty forward of ya. Seein’ as how I got me a sweetheart, and all...”

Octavius pulls back.

“‘Diah, you are married to _me,”_ he says matter-of-factly, breaking character. Although, secretly he is pleased with the slip. “It is perfectly alright within the bonds of marriage to have a unilateral, non-disclosed, temporary revocation of mutual exclusivity in this precise instance.”

Jedediah’s eyes cross. Octavius kisses him again, and his eyes widen, as though startled. He pushes Octavius back with a frown, tilting his head. “That’s a whole mess of fancy words strung together ta’ say you’re okay with me two-timing ya.”

“That is not what I said and I would certainly have a problem with such a scenario, ‘Diah. But you can hardly two-time me — _with —_  me.”

Looking skeptical, Jedediah lifts his eyebrows and blows out a loud breath. “I guess. If ya say so, hoss.”

“You are endearing,” Octavius murmurs, lips dragging down Jedediah’s throat once more. “And, please remember, darling. Less 1800’s rural America and more Roman. You are timeless,” he coaxes, warming up to the role playing. “You are eloquent. Your words are refined.”

Jedediah glances at him. “Well…” He wets his lips, thoughtful.

Seeing Jedediah’s uncertainty, Octavius leans back, breaking character once more. “There are no wrong answers.” Fingers splayed, he lifts his palm in the direction of a vast and unknown horizon. “Allow your imagination to take flight!”

Grateful, Jedediah nods. “Then, I guess, um, I’d invite ya — I would invite you back to my place.” He grimaces, shaking his head. “To the emperor’s bedchambers and…” He exclaims, “And...and we could fool around!”

Octavius’s eyebrows shoot up.

“ — but our bedroom is kind of...broken...”

Octavius chuckles darkly, back in character. He nips at the soft flesh of Jedediah’s neck, earning him a small tremor. “Hmm. My, my, you are an adventurer, indeed. Such passion! And one after my own heart. May I ask how you and your companion broke an entire room?”

“It was more like the whole house, actually.”

Octavius cracks a laugh at the forthrightness, the skin around his eyes crinkling. The statement had been entirely unexpected.

“Pray, then. Where shall we go. And what if we are caught? Is your lover a kind and forgiving man?”

Jedediah hums. He tilts his head back, melting in Octavius’s arms. “To be honest, he’s kind of an old grump.” He lifts his head. “And dramatic as all get-out. He’s got melodrama coming out his dang ears.”

Octavius squeaks and gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest.

Jedediah snickers and expertly slips from the branch, dropping down through the leaves. He lands nimbly on bare feet on the grass in a deep crouch.

 _“Mmm,”_ Octavius says, tilting his head, enjoying the view, eyes tracing along the familiar curve of Jedediah's back through the delicate light blue fabric.

He arches an eyebrow when Jedediah holds out his palms to help him from the tree. He shoulders into his duster and slides down, readily taking the proffered assistance.

Once at the bottom, he squeezes Jedediah’s hand. “Come. I have something to show you.”

* * *

_Later…_

Mouth hanging open, Jedediah stares up at the newly restored house.

Octavius twists from side to side, arms behind his back. He brings his arms around, hands coming to rest casually in his front pockets. “Do you like it?”

Jedediah appears rattled. His face has gone white. He presses his lips together until they are equally as pale. “H-h-how?”

“Our youngest. They have been hard at work, rebuilding the house from scratch, stone by glorious stone. The decorating was taken over by my men. No _Room of Masks_ this time. I thought it wise considering how the other house met its untimely end.”

Jedediah’s brow crinkles. He stares at Octavius, stupefied, for several long heartbeats. Something glitters in his gaze. “I-I don’t understand.” Then he swallows convulsively, expression guarded. His voice is very quiet. “You’re movin’ back?”

Octavius captures Jedediah’s palm, lips brushing knuckles.

Jedediah frowns; Octavius smiles.

He holds Jedediah’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Then he tugs Jedediah forward.

“Come.”

He is resisted, but then he gives another tug, repeating himself. Jedediah’s body goes rigid and his eyes grow wide in trepidation.

Still holding Jedediah’s hand, Octavius tilts his head, gifting Jedediah with his most charming of smiles, walking backward, urging Jedediah toward the structure.

Finally, Jedediah budges, walking with him.

* * *

 _Later_ …

Jedediah turns around in a complete circle. His eyes are wide. He still has not said anything.

“Is it too much?” Octavius asks quietly.

Jedediah purses his lips. Then he shakes his head. “No… no it's not.” He rubs his neck slowly and peers around at the immenseness of the home. It is rather small compared to the other structures throughout Rome, but much bigger than their tent. Looking down at the ground, he says,  “I mean, I like our tent better…” He trails off. “It’s...cozy.”

Hands behind his back, Octavius bobs his head from side to side. He peers around at the home, attempting to see it from Jedediah’s perspective. “I thought this place was rather modest.”

With a loud sigh, Jedediah shakes his head, frustrated. His mouth is a tight line. He slaps his thigh.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. I’m glad you got your house back, really, I am. Attila and the boys did a mighty fine job. It’s beautiful and it’s modest. Just like you.” His eyes dart. He shrugs. “Mostly.”

Octavius’s mouth quirks.

“You deserve it.” Jedediah whispers.

Clicking his tongue, Octavius slips his arms around Jedediah, holding him.  

Jedediah frowns again, his back once again rigid.

“Walk with me,” Octavius says.

Jedediah squints, but he stiffly allows Octavius to lead him from room to room.

Octavius steps through an archway and does a double-take. At the far end of the room, a restored mural has sprung to life. It is the mother wolf and her two young charges, Romulus and Remus.

One of the pudgy-faced babies pulls his foot into his mouth and gums his big toe. The infant’s brother pushes him. He cries, letting go of his foot, and rolls onto his back, arms and legs flailing.

The culprit points at Octavius and Jedediah, shaking a chubby fist. “Burrburrbaahbaaah!” The baby finishes with a high-pitched, ear-splitting squeal while the mother wolf looks on with glaring eyes.

Octavius and Jedediah blink at the mural, and then look to each other.

Jedediah recovers first, taking the unpredictable magic in stride. He points his index finger. “Boys, you best not be committing fratricide in there. There’s ta’ be no smitin’ between brothers. Ya hear?”

The one Octavius decides is Romulus blows a bubble of saliva down his own chin. Hands splayed, the infant gurgles and rocks, pumping his arms. He squeals gibberish at the two funny, strangely-dressed men. “Gaga gaga gaaaah!”

Jedediah lifts his finger again. He opens his mouth to argue with the baby. “Son, I —”

While it’s been established Jedediah likes children — and is perfectly content with raising more of them — he is visibly frazzled at the moment. And making good first impressions is not always Jedediah’s strong suit, so Octavius pulls him along.

* * *

_Later..._

“Dad-gum! Son-of-a-biscuit!”

At the Triclinium, a quite active mural of naked youths coupling and frolicking around in groves leaves Octavius staring with his mouth hanging open. He snaps it shut and turns to Jedediah.

Head down, Jedediah has covered his eyes, scandalized. He sways slightly on his feet.

Octavius’s attention is drawn back to the mural when movement catches his gaze.

An entirely nude wood nymph rises from her perch. Brazenly, she stands, her feet heroically planted. She gives a saucy curving smile and blows a kiss at them.

Octavius whips his gaze, feeling the compulsion to pull Jedediah closer and wrap his arms protectively around him.

Tight-lipped, he surrenders to this urge, suddenly next to Jedediah, his arm coming around his waist and hustling him past the mural.

They round a corner and proceed down another elaborately decorated corridor.

* * *

_A few moments later…_

Octavius casts a quick glance up and down the hall to ensure they have their privacy before saying, “I have one last anniversary gift for you.”

Jedediah squints, confused. He bites his lip. Subdued, he asks quietly, “Weren’t the brooch and the house enough?”

Palm resting on the small of Jedediah’s back, Octavius points to an open door with a metal circular plaque. It is engraved with Jedediah’s initials.

Jedediah blinks, taken aback. He turns to Octavius. “Ockie, what did you do?”

Octavius picks up their conversation from earlier. “I, alone, may not deserve this house, my darling, but _we_ do.”

Jedediah whips his head.

Octavius beams. He sweeps his open palm, presenting the room with flourish. “After you.”

Jedediah glances into the room. He turns back to Octavius, walking backward, a look of deep confusion on his face. “Oct?”

Octavius urges him along, nodding.

A simple but beautifully polished wooden desk and chair sits in the center of the room. Octavius had a few leather bound books of clean and crisp blank paper made, which are stacked neatly beside an impressive ink pot and pen.

Along the walls there are two empty bookshelves.

Artificial sunlight pours in through the large window, and through the open door.

Octavius glances around the room. Having already seen it, he is still pleased with how well the room turned out. His children and the Roman decorators and landscapers who took over are all artists.

He’s kept it simple, mostly empty for Jedediah to decorate or _not_ decorate as he sees fit. Satisfied, he turns his gaze.

Jedediah has gone speechless once more. His wide blue eyes flick to Octavius and then back to the writing station. Slowly, he steps toward the desk, touching the polished wood delicately.

“Why…” Jedediah swallows, turning back. “Why did ya do all this?”

“I wanted to give you your own space. Your own private sanctuary where you can read. Write. You can be alone. Or go outside, there,” Octavius points towards the door. “It is a private garden. For you.”

Jedediah’s eyes widen once more. He is overwhelmed; his whole body shakes. His lips part, eyes shining. He glances between Octavius and the door.

“Go on,” Octavius encourages.

Jedediah wets his lips.

Then, with quick eager steps, he is outside, and Octavius follows only a few paces behind.

They are met with lush greenery. A small orchard fills the entire space, along with a few nondescript statuaries and large granite boulders sitting on what isn’t so much a mountain, but a hill. However, the stones are large enough and high enough for Jedediah to climb up and gaze over the garden.

A small, Roman made waterfall cascades from the hill's peak into an awaiting waist-deep wading pool, and then extends into a narrow stream that helps nourish a few living berry bushes.

It isn’t precisely the untamed wilderness from Jedediah’s time period, but it is the closest facsimile Roman minds could dream up.

“I considered flowers,” Octavius murmurs, placing a hand on Jedediah’s shoulder. “There are a few. But I thought a more, well, an even more natural setting fit you better.”

Octavius shoulders his way past Jedediah, sweeping his arms, caught up in the moment. “And here, a bare patch of earth. You can build a warm fire. There's even room for a tent.”

When Jedediah says nothing, still staring around him, Octavius begins feeling anxious.

He regards Jedediah with raised eyebrows, and then clears his throat. “This isn't about keeping you here…” He trails off. “I had planned for us to retain our tent in the Old West. However, there have been times matters in Rome have taken longer than I expected to finesse. And I thought...if time got away from me again, you —” Octavius stops and corrects himself. “— we might stay the day in Rome. And perhaps a few nights as well.”

Jedediah’s gaze flickers and he turns his head.

“I desired you to be happy whenever you chose to accompany me and grew bored.”

There is a blue blur, and Octavius is yanked forward by his shirt collar. Jedediah kisses him breathless. They stand there, gasping.

Tears spill from Jedediah's eyes. He slumps against Octavius, hands clutching either side of his leather duster. Startled, Octavius wraps his arms around him.

When Jedediah finally gets his breath back, he says, “I thought you were leavin’ me.”

Octavius shakes his head. He takes Jedediah’s face in his hands. “I have no wish to be separated from you. You’re my best friend. My home is wherever you are.”

“Paradise. You gave me paradise,” Jedediah breathes.

Octavius grins.

“I want you.” Jedediah’s breath is hot against Octavius’s skin. “God, I want you right now!”

There is a two-second delay before the words sink in. Then Octavius is scrambling.

This time when Octavius hoists Jedediah over his shoulder, Jedediah is laughing.

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius shoulders open the door to his bedchamber like a charging bull and shifts them through the opening. He heroically back-kicks the door closed, sets Jedediah on his feet, and uses his body to back Jedediah against the wall.

Jedediah clings as Octavius's lips cover his. He breaks the kiss and pushes Octavius back.

An abrupt breeze gusts through the room around them, pressing Jedediah’s toga tightly to his one side, while the other side billows, swirling around his ankles. It is a powerful sight. Majestic. He stands as regal as a king in full royal regalia and unfastens the brooch from the folds in the fabric.

Octavius shivers as the flimsy light blue material slips from Jedediah’s broad shoulders and pools around his feet. Then Octavius stills, jolted into silence.

_Jedediah isn’t wearing undergarments!_

With nothing but a smile, he spreads his arms. _“Ta-daaa!”_

Mouth dropping open, Octavius brings his gaze up. He blinks, temporarily losing thought to his brain.

Realizing his face is split into a wide, dopey grin, he clears his throat. “This is a surprise, indeed.”

Jedediah continues smiling unashamedly, radiating both charm and a distinct challenge. He nods, smile easing into one of fondness. “Happy Anniversary, darlin’.”

He takes Octavius’s arms and guides him around until it is Octavius, not Jedediah, with his back to the wall.

Octavius gives a low chuckle, looking his fill while undoing his belt buckle, pushing the soft leather down his hips.

Remembering their role playing game from earlier, he steps out of his breeches and says, “You’re very agreeable, aren’t you?” That decadent tone returns to his voice. “I’m sure your emperor would be rather displeased over how passionate you are being with me.”

Jedediah grins, playing along. The timber of his voice changes, and his words are eloquently spoken. “Many things would displease him. But he gives me a great deal of license.”

And then Jedediah is — _by the gods!_

With deliberate resolution, Jedediah lowers himself to his knees, gaze fixed upon him.

“Darling —”

Jedediah stares with intent at Octavius’s undergarments. He flicks his eyes up. Roman nobility shines from his gaze. “I’m not _your_ darling. I’m _his.”_

He flashes a goofy grin, blinking at Octavius through his lashes. His eyes shine with triumph, the skin around them crinkling up at the corners. Because he is Jedediah, his smile gives away the game.

It is of little matter. Octavius shakes his head fondly. He cards through Jedediah’s hair, amusement flickering around his mouth.

Then, with eyes beaming at Octavius, Jedediah leans forward to kiss his stomach and pulls the undergarments down. His hand encircles him.  

Jedediah bends his head to take Octavius into his mouth.

All thought ceases.

* * *

_Moments later..._

Jedediah pulls away with a breathless, wet smacking sound, hands at Octavius’s waist. The action draws an involuntary groan from Octavius. Jedediah glances up only once, rising from his kneeling position.

Back pressed to the wall, Octavius staggers forward. His legs are liquid. Weak at the knees, his chin catches against Jedediah's bare shoulder before he can sag to the floor.

Jedediah’s arms come around him.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Octavius blinks. Their eyes meet and hold, gazes speaking volumes.

Peering down, he flexes his fingers, brain only now catching up with the fact that his nails have been leaving deep gouges in the newly constructed wall.

He forces his fingers to relax.

It may not have been the most expertly performed fellatio he’s ever experienced, but what Jedediah lacks in skill, he made up for with unbridled enthusiasm and single-minded focus.

Octavius rolls his head back, against the wall, blinking the stars from his eyes. He gives Jedediah a tipsy grin. As with all new endeavors, skill comes with practice. He thinks in this activity, however, Jedediah’s learning curve may very well kill him.

* * *

_Later…_

A gentle palm traces and strokes Octavius’s back while he lounges on the bed. He has one arm hanging over the edge of the mattress, with an almost empty cup of wine held by the rim in his hand.

Octavius’s lips curl into a slow smile as kisses start to accompany the tender touches, Jedediah's light stubble slightly tickling his skin.

He sighs, content. Lifting his arm to place the cup on his nightstand, Octavius rolls over and captures Jedediah in his arms.

The blankets are twisted around their hips.

Carding through Jedediah’s tousled mop, he says, “So I would say the gardens were a success, then?”

Jedediah shakes the bed with the force of his silent laughter. Swirls of sapphire and hints of turquoise sparkle from his eyes, and his wide smile erases the lines of care and worry from his face. “I think ya might have been on the right track, yeah.”

* * *

_Later…_

With Baby’s assistance, Octavius and Jedediah take a trip to the library.

The pair of them sit together flipping through the pages of a large tome.

All at once, Jedediah gasps and leans forward. Giddy, he bounces up and down on his knees and points. “Look!  There’s my hat!”

Intrigued, Octavius peers down.

There, on the page, is a man dressed in the buckskins of Jedediah’s time period. In one hand he holds a rifle, and the other, a small ax. The caption reads: _Davy Crockett._

And then Octavius jolts, doing a double-take. Involuntarily, he twitches. He swiftly brings his gaze up, a look of horror on his face.

There is a gray-and-tan striped, furred monstrosity wrapped around the rugged man’s head. The headgear even bears a pointed face and a bushy tail!

Jedediah grins from ear to ear. Proudly, he says, “Raccoon was a common material for winter caps in those days.” He purses his lips, wiggling excitedly in his seat. “Baby…” There is a wheedling tone to his voice. “Could we —”

Octavius whips his head. He lifts his chin. His gaze is fixed in a stare of absolute superiority. In a tone meant to dictate no rebuke, he states, “Absolutely not!”

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius instructs Jedediah on proper shield technique, demonstrating how to dodge blows. Learning how to take a fall is vitally important, so they also practice driving to the ground and rolling.

“Romans are trained to stab and thrust,” Octavius says, his objective gaze scrutinizing Jedediah’s stance. “We are trained to take advantage of any possible gap below or to the side of the enemy's shield. Do not allow me past your defenses.”

Jedediah lifts his shield. Each of Octavius’s strikes brings the leather and canvas up  — again and again.

Contrary to Octavius’s words of instruction about Romans only stabbing with their blades, he lifts his wooden sword, swinging in an arc, and bringing it down. The impact of the blade against leather must jar Jedediah’s arms, but he does not complain.

Jedediah steps back, panting. He rolls his shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

Face grim, Jedediah nods. His jaw is set with determination. “Let’s go.”

They continue.

Octavius swings at Jedediah.

Jedediah ducks the blow.

Octavius lunges forward and then feints left.

The blade bounces off Jedediah’s shield. He pushes Octavius back with the canvas.  

Octavius advances with two quick lunges.  

Jedediah brings his shield up.

At one point, the wooden blade slips past his defenses and he falls backward onto the floor.

As the sword passes by, he backrolls, arches his long legs, and flips to his feet.

He brings his shield up, dropping into a deep crouch.

* * *

_Later…_

Mastering one lesson, they move on to the next.

Octavius shows Jedediah how to hold the blade, planting his feet wide apart.

The wooden swords they are using weigh twice as much as normal steel gladii. They are utilized to increase body size, swiftness, and precision, all while not skewering one’s training partner. They are going to practice a little each evening.

The first night is simply to get Jedediah used to the weapon. He waves it in front of him, one handed, watching the movement of the wooden blade with awe. He swings it around, up, over, and down.

Octavius wraps his arms around Jedediah’s waist, Jedediah's back pressed into Octavius's armored chest as he positions his fingers back over the hilt, palms on top of Jedediah's hands.

He traces the lines of Jedediah’s fingers with his own, moving up his arms to stroke the edge of his collarbone to his neck.

So enticing; so glorious.

Jedediah lifts his head. “God, you’re frisky tonight.”

Octavius nuzzles his neck with the tip of his nose, pressing against him, hands and fingers roaming slowly in hopes of giving rise to a response. “Always.”

Jedediah shudders, arching into the contact. Mindful of the sword, he turns in Octavius’s arms.

While not by design, they get no farther that evening as the instruction is enough to inflame both of their interests. Octavius had never imagined how sensual the art of battle could be.

Octavius, first drags, then tosses Jedediah over his shoulders to his bedchambers. Jedediah does not protest.  

Later, ardor satisfied, they slow the pace, making love properly.

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah laughs at Octavius’s continued romanticism.

“Ya realize ya done gone and hooked me, right?” he chides, murmuring against Octavius’s neck. “You got me, ya poked me _._ It’s done. You can cool it with the whole _laying siege_ thing you got goin’. You don’t have ta’ keep wooin’ me all over the dang place, _Don Juan_. We’re men, after all.”

Octavius simply cocks his head to the side, confused. “I have no idea who — or _what_ — _Don Juan_ is.”

Jedediah opens his mouth to educate him, but Octavius presses his fingers to Jedediah’s lips.

He smooths Jedediah's brow with the backs of his knuckles, a tender gesture, there and gone, before Jedediah can recover and protest. Rather than defend his unabashed bluntness regarding his feelings, he says, “I find your use of the word _poke_ displeasing.”

Blue eyes searching, Jedediah stares at him in mute exasperation. Octavius raises his eyebrows. Then with a sigh, Jedediah lays his head back down against Octavius’s chest.

All in all, Jedediah’s words were a rather gentle reproach.

Octavius believes Jedediah’s protests are a product of his bashfulness and that Jedediah is secretly enamored of Octavius’s ways. It is very obvious that Jedediah thrives under Octavius’s continued regard.

So Octavius plants a kiss on the top of his spouse’s head.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls Jedediah closer, snuggling him.

* * *

_Later…_

Over many nights, after they perform their various duties in their respective dioramas, they drill repetitively with Octavius pushing harder and harder. The same motions, over and over again until movements form into habits and become instinctual.

They begin simply with Jedediah facing a Roman training stand, chipping and chopping away incessantly at the much-abused wooden post.

_Stab, thrust, hack, twist, block. Repeat._

Jedediah pants. He bends at the waist attempting to catch his breath. “I think…” he wheezes “…I think my dad-blame arms are gonna fall off!”

Octavius arches an eyebrow. He waits for Jedediah to straighten up. And, waits.

Jedediah dramatically falls over onto his back, spent.

With a sigh, Octavius ambles over. He cocks his head, peering down at Jedediah. “Come along, my little kumquat. You cannot remain on the ground.”

Jedediah’s nose scrunches up at this new pet name and peeks one eye open. His brow knits together and he frowns, mouth twisting in displeasure, but he does not go off on a tangent about being called _little._

Splayed on his back, he rolls his head from side to side, and then goes boneless. “No more tonight. I can’t. It’s like learnin’ a whole other language!”

“Which you excel at,” Octavius reasons. When Jedediah does not budge — and instead —  remains in repose, playing dead, Octavius lifts an inscrutable eyebrow.

He mulls over the dilemma.

“So,” he begins wryly. He keeps his gaze on his fingernails, picking at each of them with his thumb, but his focus stays fixed on Jedediah. “I presume if you’re too tired for swordplay, then you’re also too tired to indulge in a bit of hanky panky afterward?”

_Gods help him, he’s just used Jedediah’s own word choices to drive home his agenda!_

It has the desired effect.

Jedediah gasps, snapping his eyes open. He rocks on his back, bounding to his feet. “I’m up, I’m up! God, you’re Mister Doom and Gloom tonight!” He bounces for effect even though he does appear exhausted. His hair is a mess. “Come on! Let’s go!”

Octavius’s mouth quirks. He slants his gaze sideways, smiling with his eyes.

* * *

_Later…_

Doc, Ringo, Felix, and Bill have not moved nary an inch in all of ten minutes while they study the mural of frolicking, naked youths.

Felix has his arms folded, knuckles pressed to his chin. One eyebrow is lifted as he leans back against Bill. He sighs and closes his eyes as Bill wraps an arm around his waist.

Jedediah speaks to the group, but keeps his attention focused solely on Octavius, holding a gloved hand cupped to his temple so he doesn’t catch glimpses of what the revelers within the painting are doing. “Reckon we can put up some curtains?”

“It would be distracting at dinner,” Octavius agrees, arms behind his back.

“Somebody could choke!”

Octavius shakes his head. “A liability.”

Ringo straddles a chair, leaning forward. He traces the air over the elaborate, vivid scene with his finger and stares, spellbound. Then he rubs his stubbled jaw thoughtfully. His mouth hangs open; his eyes follow the naked youths.

Movement catches Octavius’s eyes. A nude woman within the mural separates herself from the rest of her kin. She strikes a rather provocative pose, stretching her arms up over her head.

Octavius folds his arms, supremely unaffected.

The twins twist their necks curiously. Their expressions soften and they sigh.

Still not looking, but taking in the reaction of his sons, Jedediah suggests, “On the other hand, it would bring the twins to the dinner table.”

Octavius hums. “We would have to change our seating arrangement to accommodate.” He eyes the ceiling gravely. “Perhaps our youngest could install hinges to the roof so our entire brood can participate in family meal time.”

“Yeah…” Ringo says in a monotone voice, still mesmerized. His eyes are glazed over. “I could eat.”

“I don’t want Baby exposed to nudity. He’s too young,” Jedediah grouses.

“Our child is billions of years old, Jedediah,” Octavius reasons.

Jedediah’s eyes narrow, gloved hand still pressed to his temple. “So? You said he ain’t courtin’ for forty years. So don’t be giving him any ideas! He’s just a baby!”

Felix and Bill peer at one another.

The nude woman tosses her dark hair around her slim shoulders and bends down to give Ringo a seductive stare, full of promises. He scoots his chair closer to the mural, his lips hovering near the siren’s mouth.

The woman giggles behind her palm.

Jedediah purses his lips, annoyed. “Or we could just paint over ‘em if they don't settle down and stop tryin’ ta’ ensnare our boys…”

The siren sticks out her bottom lip and sulks.

Doc raises his hand, equally as enthralled as his brother. “Let’s not be too hasty here, pa!”

* * *

_Later…_

Jedediah removes his sword from his belt. Abruptly, he spins, aiming for Octavius’s legs in a round, wild swing.

Octavius evades the blade with a jump.

Keeping his balance, he parries Jedediah’s thrusts using only his wrist, protecting his center line.

Jedediah swings his sword back behind his shoulder.

“Stab! Do not swing,” Octavius instructs. “You leave your chest vulnerable to a thrust from my blade.”

They practice on the inside window ledge of the museum while lightning cracks outside. Brightness illuminates the expansive room and casts Jedediah’s face in shadow.

Blades cross.

They push against each other, at an impasse.

A crash of thunder shakes the museum’s foundations as gray veils of rain beat against the glass.

Octavius struggles to hold Jedediah’s sword in place until he pivots, planting his feet in a wide stance. He twists his wrist.

Jedediah’s blade goes sailing through the air.

Lips compressed, he mutters under his breath and moves to retrieve the weapon from the ground.

Octavius’s eyes shine bright and unguarded. Teasing, he irrelevantly thwacks Jedediah on the backside with the flat of the blade.

Jedediah jumps and squawks loudly, shielding his rump with his hands. Octavius’s eyes light up. Jedediah’s griping has always been music to his ears.

In an effort to gain the upper hand, Jedediah shouts, whirls, and comes rushing back, slicing the wooden sword over his head in an arc, swinging the blade down.

Octavius blocks.

Jedediah twists.

One-handed, Octavius bends and deftly snatches Jedediah’s pugio at his thigh.

Jedediah goes completely still, feeling the sharp ceremonial dagger at his throat.

He casts a look to the side and their eyes lock.

Lightning flashes.

Lips pursed, Octavius arches an eyebrow. “Never forget that Romans do not play nice.”

The tendons in Jedediah's neck shifts when he swallows, Adam’s Apple bobbing, and Octavius must forcibly restrain himself. He wishes to chase that up-and-down movement with his lips, but holds firm.

Frustrated, Jedediah squeezes his eyes shut. He screams in the back of his throat and shouts, “Dagnabit!”

Nostrils flaring, he heaves his own blade at the ground, and then stands, aggravated, with his hands on his cocked hips.

Octavius keeps the dagger held to Jedediah’s neck. “We can — _and will_ play dirty if given half the chance.  

Jedediah’s jaw works as he clenches his teeth.

Octavius relaxes his hold and gently pushes Jedediah away. He hands over the pugio, sheathes his own sword, and then bends down to retrieve Jedediah’s training weapon.

Stalking away, Jedediah kicks at dust motes. A layer of dust covers the entirety of the ledge where they have not been training. It would appear Reggie or one of the night guards has neglected to wipe it down. The motes become falling, glittering stars when the lightning strikes and they catch and reflect the light.

Thunder shakes the building.

Striding forward, Octavius says, “You are improving.” It is said in a soft conciliatory tone.

Jedediah has learned much. Octavius knows he’s been pushing hard and Jedediah has been extraordinarily patient with both he and this obsession of his. The effort has not gone unnoticed and is appreciated.

As though reading his thoughts, Jedediah glances over his shoulder and their gazes lock. Silence stretches between them, through the charged air.

Jagged streaks of lightning dance across the night sky.

Octavius closes his eyes, inhaling deeply to collect himself before matters get heated. He reminds himself: _No hanky panky in public._

He steps back as the ledge vibrates, jarred by another bout of thunder. Taking a deep breath, he moves forward to stand in front of Jedediah.

“You telegraph your attacks, dearest. When you yell and spin, you’re informing your opponent what you're going to do before you do it. You’re also wasting energy. You must be vigilant. Remember. You would be fighting for your life. When you swing, do not keep your sword behind you. The way you are going about it, willy-nilly, I could easily have run you through.”

He pecks Jedediah on the cheek and moves away.

Unsheathing his weapon once more, he points at his own stomach. “Throw in a strike. Right here.”

Jedediah swallows and nods. He advances again.

Octavius meets him.

Their wooden swords clack.

Tossing the sword to his left hand, Jedediah deflects one of Octavius's stabs.

Octavius nods. “Good.” He continues his instruction. “Keep up your defenses. If we were truly at war, you would be striving to break down the defensive capabilities of my center line, exposing my vulnerabilities. As I would you. We are attacking each other. Not our gladii.”

Jedediah snickers. His eyes glint. “Sounds ornery.”

_Block, roll, attack._

Their swords cross.

“Gladii: it is the Latin word for swords,” Octavius instructs him through their locked blades.

Jedediah nods, he pushes back with his training weapon. “I got it. I know.”

Charging, he spins and leaps, twirling his gladius.

Octavius parries easily.

_Clack, clack. Clack, clack, clack._

“If you charge in recklessly, my dear, your opponent may simply wait patiently and let you impale yourself,” Octavius warns again.

Jedediah slaps his thigh. He spreads his arms out. “Why is this all soundin’ so ornery?”

“Because you have sex on the brain, my darling.”

Jedediah slashes with his sword. “And who’s fault is that, baby cakes?”

Inwardly preening, Octavius’s mouth quirks. He is the picture of innocence. “It is certainly not mine…”

He proceeds to turn around and flips his ornamental pteruges and paludamentum, flashing a bit of manly thigh.

Jedediah attacks.

Octavius blocks, evades, and parries. He grabs Jedediah’s arm and jerks him off balance.

Jedediah stumbles again. He swings his wooden sword.

Octavius ducks, but his hair ruffles at the pass.  

Their swords clack and they shove away from each other.

Jedediah parries a blow from Octavius's blade and quickly sidesteps and brings the sword down at a new angle.

Octavius swings his gladius loosely in his hand and blocks, turning with a whirl of his paludamentum.

“Keep your elbows bent, and close to your body. An inexperienced fighter tends to stretch out his arms in order to keep his opponent at a distance, but this will hurt your ability to react quickly. Extend your sword towards your opponent, not your arms.”

Jedediah turns around, sword raised.

He parries Jedediah’s thrust and trips him as he sails past.

The blade goes flying from Jedediah’s grip.

Sprawled on the ground, he lifts his head up. “Doggone it, Oct!”

All their mock fighting has Jedediah’s brown leather breeches hanging low on his hips. Those breeches taunt Octavius mercilessly.

Absently, Octavius tilts his head. His eyes soften for a moment as he gazes at the magnificence that is his husband. Mouth twitching up at the corners, he feels pride in his choice.

Expression tight, Jedediah rises to his feet, slapping his blue shirt and the brown leather free of dirt and dust.

Then, he hooks the toe of his boot under his sword and kicks it up into the air.

Catches it.

Lightning crisscrosses the sky.

Dust motes swirl.

Back straight, he swings his sword. “Let’s go!”

Thunder booms, rattling the window.

The electrically charged air current sizzles as another bright bolt of lightning shoots across the sky.

Silently impressed, Octavius smiles at his partner. _“Mmm…”_

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius strolls through Jedediah’s garden. He hitches up his ankle length toga and sinks down, lying back against the cool earth.

Stretching out his arms, he lounges on a patch of thick, green grass. Soaking up the artificial sun’s warmth, he gazes at the sky and into its infinite, unchanging blue.

The grass surrounding him seems to whisper as a breeze drifts through the long blades, tickling his bare arms and whipping gently at the soft fabric of his toga.

He hears splashes and promptly sits up.

The affairs of Rome settled for another night, he watches Jedediah while he is unaware of Octavius’s presence.

Hair and skin wet, Jedediah bobs up and down, treading water that is up to his waist.

Wonder of all wonders, he is wearing his light blue toga, the bottom half bunched in his hands. The hem is thoroughly soaked through. It has floated up to the surface of the pool, gliding out behind him with his every step, creating a sweeping, majestic appearance.

The sodden cloth clings to Jedediah in all the right places, highlighting lean muscles and the hard lines of his body.

It makes Octavius’s heart skip a beat. His lips part. A dopey grin spreads across his mouth.

The sight is magnificent!

Mesmerized, Octavius takes a moment to look his fill.

Near the pool’s edge, a patch of lush grass grows, waving like rich green flame, but it is nothing compared to his beloved soaking wet and glistening here in the gardens.

Jedediah appears content and happy.

Octavius’s silent, appreciative perusal is immediately cut short when Cookie teleports into the gardens and flops down, rolling in the grass, whinnying happily.

Jedediah whirls and modestly scrunches down, dunking his head under the water.

A moment later, he breaks the surface. He coughs, sputtering.

Tossing his wet, shaggy hair from his eyes, he then smooths it back with his palms. Seeing that it is only Octavius and Cookie, he gawks at them without bothering to wipe his dripping face.

“Boys! Doggone it, ya scared me!”

Octavius chortles, crinkles appearing around the corners of his eyes. His eyes lingers thoughtfully for several moments. He tilts his head. His heart bursts with love. “Adorable.”

Jedediah remains crouched where he is. Octavius flicks his wrist, and the colt takes the hint, rolling to his hooves and disappearing.

Once Cookie is gone, Octavius moves toward the pool’s edge. Fully clothed, he joins Jedediah. He hits the water in a clean racing dive.

The water is freezing. He breaks the surface with a shriek. “C-c-cold!”

He gasps in a lungful of air, holding his arms out in front of him, bobbing up and down. Then he cups his palms, batting water at Jedediah.

Jedediah yelps and lunges.

Octavius narrowly avoids Jedediah's grab, chuckling, but then Jedediah catches him and dunks him. Octavius comes up, spitting out the pool water.

They play for some time, splashing and dunking each other until they both stop laughing. They circle each other, both wearing a look of intensity on their faces as the water laps at their waists and tickles the backs of their knees.  

They bob up and down in the gentle current.

“I was under the impression the toga was a one shot.”

Jedediah blushes. He wets his lips and lifts a shoulder, arms gliding and cutting through the water. “I reckoned since it wasn’t on for long last time, I’d surprise ya.” He points, stern. “Don’t be gettin’ used to it.”

Octavius inclines his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He smiles a little too sweetly and gets splashed in the face for his trouble.

They swim back and forth in the pool, shrieking and play-fighting. Flinging water back and forth, they pull each other under like a pair of rowdy children.

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius thrusts, connecting with Jedediah’s shield and his forearm.

Jedediah yelps. He drops the leather canvas, sucking a quick breath between his teeth, flapping his hand.

Octavius gasps, dropping his wooden sword. “Sweetheart!”

Jedediah lifts pained eyes to him. And then his gaze turns sly. He raises his sword and stabs. “Boop!”

Arms spread wide, Octavius stares down at the wooden blade poking against his armor-protected chest. He brings his gaze up.

“Jedediah!” he chastises.

Jedediah shakes his shaggy head. “I gotcha now, son.” He raises his fist in victory. “Whoo-whee!”

Octavius chuckles.  

Gently, he pushes Jedediah’s sword away. He moves forward and reaches for him, taking his palm. Jedediah stills, and they stare at one another.

Then Octavius kicks Jedediah’s legs out from under him.

Jedediah gasps in shock.  “Dagnabit…”

They both grin.

While Jedediah lies stunned in the dirt, Octavius tilts his head to the side, eyes soft. His heart flutters in his chest.

He lifts the hand he still grasps to his lips.

Jedediah sweeps his legs.

An instant later, Octavius lies flat on his back in the dust with Jedediah’s legs on either side of his waist. He peers up, dazed.

Belatedly, he realizes that Jedediah is sitting atop him. Their eyes lock and hold. No words are said.

Jedediah places his hand on Octavius's armor-plated chest, right over his heart. A flicker of warmth appears in his gaze. “Romans ain’t the only ones who play dirty.”

Octavius’s entire body tingles. He hums and lifts a palm. Weaving his fingers through Jedediah's hair, he cups the back of his skull.

Jedediah clasps one of Octavius's wrists, hand wrapping around his bracers, and draws his arm up over his head. He uses his other palm to drag Octavius's other wrist up next.

It is of little consequence as Octavius has no wish to try and escape.

He smiles back, knowing Jedediah’s capacity for passion and welcomes it, speaking volumes through his gaze.

Then, bit by slow bit, Jedediah’s mouth curves up in a smile. He lowers his mouth to Octavius’s.

* * *

_Later…_

The Barking Hun, Oniki, renamed Bob by Jedediah in order to curb his aggressive tendencies, plops a softcover book down on the atrocious, deeply brown bench in front of them.

With a thumb under his chin, fingers curled at his mouth, Octavius arches an eyebrow at two scantily clad lovers locked in a passionate embrace on the book’s cover.

Jedediah stares at it. He keeps staring at it. Blinking, he brings his head up. “This ain’t no history book.” He squints. “Where didja get it?”

Bob nods, speaking slowly, thinking over his words carefully and sounding them out. _“Lost — and — found.”_ Pride in his eyes, he grins happily at his own success with the English language. The other Huns clap him on the back, and Bob points and tilts his head. “Read?”

The other Huns lift their fists and cheer. They look expectantly at Jedediah. Their enthusiasm is high.

Octavius peers at Jedediah. Hip cocked, Jedediah looks at Octavius.

Lowering his fingers from his face, Octavius murmurs, “Our little ones have to grow up sometime.”

Eyes wide, Jedediah stares up. He swallows. “Um…yeah,” he says softly, and makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

He meanders closer to the book and lifts the cover up with his thumb and forefinger, peeking inside, and immediately jerks back, shocked and repulsed.

“Oh, _hell,_ no! I ain’t contributin’ to the delinquency of our kids!”

Bob twiddles his thumbs. He sticks out his bottom lip. “Please?”

Octavius watches, fascinated.

Jedediah gasps, biting his gloved knuckles. He extends his arm and grasps Octavius’s ceremonial sleeves. “My boy said: _Please!”_

In a moral quandary between the importance of positive reinforcement and reading adult-themed novels to their children, who are — technically — adults, they eye one another uncertainly.

They have a brief debate.

Jedediah points and whisper-shouts, _“No!”_ He kicks invisible dust to emphasize his point.

Octavius holds his arms out in front of him, palms held upwards in entreaty. “It would be a good learning experience. Allow them to hear the English language spoken in a less formal manner in order to facilitate their education.”

With a loud sigh, Jedediah breaks eye contact first. He relents, lifting and waving one hand. “Fine.”

The Huns gather and plop down around the bench, settling in. They smile, giddy.  

Jedediah’s eyes flick to Octavius and then he attempts to concentrate on the written words.  He clears his throat. “Carlotta’s Pleasure,” by…” Jedediah mumbles the author’s name.  

He flips through random pages and reads: “...they plunge over the crest together in a frenzy of simultaneous explosions.”

Arms behind his back, Octavius peers over his shoulder. He cocks his head. “Hmm. Sounds painful.”

Jedediah squints. “Are they at war?”

Octavius’s mouth quirks. “Of a sort.”

“Oh, Lordy…”

What follows is a profound silence. Jedediah’s blue eyes grow enormous as he flips through more of the pages. His lips open in a perfect _O_ of horror; his hair vibrates under his Stetson, curled at the tips.

Opening his mouth, no words escape. He looks to Octavius for help.

Octavius steps in. He takes a deep breath, puffing out his chest. With an arrogant lift of his chin, he raises a hand to his breast and announces with flourish, “I volunteer to man story time tonight.”

* * *

_Later…_

Clearing his throat, he lifts his voice.

“… _he sheathed love's sweet arrow into her awaiting pearl of passion. His face smothered betwixt her huge outcropping of breasts, she welcomed him with open willingness driving them beyond the reaches of their coursing stamina._

_They writhed together in an age-old rhythm, experiencing lightning bolts, fulfilling their pleasure...”_

Octavius lifts his head from the pages and glances over.

The Huns all stare, mesmerized by his reading. They lean forward, enthralled. Jedediah, on the other hand, has collapsed into a boneless sprawl, splayed at his feet, brain locked. Octavius thinks he may have lost him.  

“Hmm…” He tilts his head. “Dearest? Are you still with me, my love?”

He lightly kicks at Jedediah’s legs to be sure, and is rewarded when he hears a groan.

“So Shakespearean…”

Octavius lifts an eyebrow. “Is this...good?”

Jedediah’s eyes flicker. “Your reading is amazing! So dramatic.” He squeezes his eyes shut and rolls his head from side to side. A muscle spasms and he involuntarily kicks his right leg. “But the material is terrible!” he whines.

Pleased by the complement, Octavius turns his attention back to the book and continues reading with gusto.

* * *

_Later…_

After sending their sons on their way, Octavius and Jedediah attempt to out-do the other thinking up their own ridiculous names for the male member, making a game of it.

They walk along the path in their garden, tiny stones crunching under foot.

Arms behind his back, Octavius suggests, “Spear.”

Hands in his pockets, Jedediah bumps Octavius’s shoulder. He bounces. “Sword!”

Bobbing his head to the side, Octavius thinks. “Engorged flesh.”

Jedediah’s nose scrunches up. He looks pained.  Brightening, he whirls in front of Octavius, walking backward. “Firebrand!”

Octavius wiggles his eyebrows. “Molten member.”

“Gaah!” Jedediah slaps his thigh. “You win! You win! Nuts!”

Octavius's mouth quirks. "Them, too."

One fist remaining at his back, he chuckles at Jedediah's scandalized expression and takes his hand, swinging their arms back and forth.

* * *

_Later…_

For a long moment, they circle one another, eyes locked, each trying to divine the other’s next move.

Equals.

Octavius stabs left and thrusts right.

His sword is deflected by Jedediah’s upraised shield.

Every jab of Octavius’s blade is answered in kind.

They drop their shields, circling each other. Their swords connect, each deflecting the onslaught of hammering blows from his opponent.

Octavius takes a flying leap at Jedediah, sword lifted.

Their blades cross horizontally.

Lips pulled back from their teeth, their arms tremble as they stand close and push against the other, both trying to knock the other off balance.

Abruptly, Jedediah twists his wrist and pulls Octavius stumbling into him.

Evenly matched, their gazes lock.

All at once, Octavius’s gaze softens. He pulls Jedediah to him in order to press their foreheads together.

Jedediah grapples, tightening his grip, and walks his way down the length of their blades.

He bats their swords aside.

Desire warms his gaze; he keeps his eyes open. Octavius doesn’t close his eyes, either. He lets out an amused chuckle.

In the next instant, Jedediah secures Octavius by his arm.

He slips his hand under Octavius’s paludamentum, resting his palm against his armor-protected back.

Octavius grabs him by his shirt collar and pulls him closer. He locks their gazes once more.  

Blades still crossed, Jedediah leans forward and pushes past Octavius’s defenses. His stubble is prickly, his lips brushing.

Then he is pulling Octavius close, tongue plunging into Octavius’s mouth, hard and demanding, until they both must come up for air.

Jedediah squeezes his eyes shut. His breathing is ragged. Octavius is not much better, their breaths coming in tandem.

Octavius closes his eyes. He drops his forehead to Jedediah’s chest, attempting to catch his breath.

“Looks like you won,” Jedediah says at last. He blows out a sigh through his nose. “Again.”

Octavius’s eyes open. He brings his head up, finding Jedediah’s gaze.

Jedediah is pushing his hair back.

Octavius squints, eyes darting around in search of Jedediah’s Stetson. He has no idea and no recollection of where Jedediah’s hat has gotten off to. Or, their swords.

Giving the Stetson and training weapons up as lost causes, Octavius shakes his head.

He brings his gaze back, cupping a stubbled jaw. Then he shakes his head. “You bested me long ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for there being such a stretch between chapters. I must confess that I haven't been myself lately due to the fact I was battling depression and have been too hyper-focused on what's happening in the news lately. 
> 
> That said, I am going to attempt to do better and concentrate on what I can control - which is my writing. I will give one caveat and say that I will do my utmost to get the next chapter out by the end of June, but I will be traveling a little next month due to work obligations, so if I do not make my goal, I haven't given up on this story, I simply ran out of time. ♥ 
> 
> Next chapter, we go dark. 
> 
> Special thanks go to [CuriousDinosaur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) for her input.


	27. Caught!

_Later…_

Striding with purpose, they walk at a normal pace down the corridor, but as they listen, they hear crashing, clattering commotion coming from the other occupants of the museum further down the hallway.

The noise is so loud; they quickly jog to a hiding spot and blend into the shadows.

“How do you do it?” Octavius whispers into Jedediah’s ear. “How do you always manage to talk me into these excursions even when they go against my better judgment?”

Jedediah holds up his gloved palm while he peers around the corner.

Octavius tenses and waits.

Looking this way and that, Jedediah curls his finger, signaling for Octavius to follow.

Noiselessly, like mice, they race past the hall and toward the back exit.

Skidding to a stop, they press their backs against the metal door. Chests heaving in identical rhythms, they draw in heaping gulps of breath.

After a beat, Jedediah angles around and clutches Octavius’s forearms. He grins with a natural-born enthusiasm. His gaze is half mischief and half maniacal. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Octavius lifts his chin. “Back in Rome where there is a blue toga for _you,_ wine for _me,_ and an exquisitely put together iron bed for _us.”_

Jedediah purses his lips and rolls his eyes. “We’ve done that already, like a blue-million times. Doncha wanna try something new?” He tilts his head. “Expand your horizons, some?”

Octavius leans forward.

Suppressing his annoyance, he lowers his voice. “I’m all for diversity and being unpredictable in our love life, darling, but this isn’t adventure so much as it is folly! I mean, really,” he says archly.

He squawks as Jedediah pulls him to his chest, cutting off further protest with an unexpected kiss that is hard and intense.

Octavius melts.

Jedediah angles his jaw and the kiss deepens, his roughened stubble, brushing against Octavius’s skin.

All thought ceases.

Jedediah pulls back, the kiss over just as Octavius's toes begin to curl and one leg lifts.

Octavius blinks his eyes open, stumbling slightly. He cannot _quite_ school his features into a mask of indifference. He breathes deep, knowing this is how Jedediah is able to talk him into anything. Even to venture outside.

Shuddering, he exhales through his nose. He shakes his head, recovering his equilibrium. His expression turns blasé. It is, but not quite, a pout. “Blast you.”

If it is possible, Jedediah’s grin grows even wider. He gives a second, light peck. A slow meeting of lips — as though they have all the time in the world. He pulls back, eyes sparkling, gaze searching.

Octavius’s own gaze softens even further. His smile turns lopsided.

Jedediah's eyes light at the decided victory.

A large, elongated shadow detaches itself from the wall and stretches over Jedediah’s face. As one, they turn their heads in search of the source of the looming shadow dancing across the door behind them.

Instantly, Jedediah’s gloved hand claps over Octavius’s mouth as the floor begins vibrating.

Running, they search for a place to hide, scuttling deeper into the shadows. They freeze. Octavius can feel his paludamentum flicker back dramatically, tickling the backs of his calves and ankles at the abrupt stop.

As they watch, a figure emerges at the edge of illumination.

A flash of light, then shadow, and then light again.

A gigantic tribesman in an enormous, brightly colored headdress passes in front of them. The man’s bare feet slap against the tile as he jogs past at a brisk clip. He is followed by a disgruntled alpaca, the great creature squealing its upset, clopping after the man on heavy hooves.

Once the two gigantic occupants make their way along, Octavius and Jedediah ease from their hiding place.

Looking both directions, Jedediah emerges from the darkness, holding down the crown of his hat. He ducks, crouched along the wall, and grabs Octavius’s arm, abruptly pulling Octavius down with him.

Then he gestures to the darkened crawl space just under the massive door.

Octavius stares up at the looming entry point, amazed at its sheer size. He reads the _EXIT_ sign aloud.

 _“Exit, pursued by a bear!”_ Jedediah exclaims, twisting back, still crouched.

“What! Where?” Octavius whirls. “I’m not afraid!” Hand going instinctively to his sword, he jerks it loose from its scabbard, and stands, ready to defend them. Nothing. There is no bear. He turns, pulling a face at his spouse.

Jedediah watches with amusement, eyes squinted in bewilderment. After a beat, his lips quirk. “I didn’t mean it literally, ya goof. I was quotin’ stage direction from Shakespeare.” He lifts his head. “The Winter’s Tale.”

Exasperated, Octavius lowers his sword, sliding it back into its scabbard. “Shakespeare,” he echoes back, grumbling ruefully, rubbing his brow. “You have an unhealthy fascination with that man.”

Jedediah clicks his tongue. He squeezes Octavius’s shoulder, consoling him, and then goes back to staring up at the exit. He kicks at the bottom of the metal frame.

They hear a tiny, hollow echo, and then Jedediah eyeballs the space between the door and the floor.

His head is tilted, appearing to be doing mental arithmetic. Hip cocked, he backs up and places his hands in his back pockets.

Turning, he gives Octavius a once-over, and then unties the chin strap from Octavius’s helmet and lifts the bristled headgear off his skull. Then he removes his own Stetson, bundling them close by, but well out of the way and out of sight.

He hitches up his breeches, crouches, and gets down on his belly, scooting forward on his knees and elbows, sliding a little ways into the black space underneath the door.

Octavius tilts his chin, arching a brow. Jedediah’s rump in those breeches is absolutely ravishing.

“There’s enough room,” Jedediah says, oblivious of the perusal, scooting backwards on his belly. “So let’s go.”

The skin on Octavius’s neck begins to prickle. He bites his lip. “I have a bad feeling.”

“I know,” Jedediah says. Wiggling, he turns his head, grinning excitedly. Mischief still glitters his eyes. “It’s gonna be great! We’re gonna have the time of our lives!” His gaze is alight at the prospect of adventure.

Octavius closes his eyes, takes in a deep, calming breath, and then opens them again. He gives Jedediah _the look._ Not _a_ look, but _the_ look. “You _hope_ it is great,” he corrects under his breath.

“It’ll be fine. You always have a bad feeling. You’re just afraid of the unknown. That’s all—”

“Correct!” Octavius quickly interjects. “We must follow the rules. I am not rebellious.”

Jedediah’s nose scrunches. “You’re more rebellious than ya think.” He holds up his gloved hand. “We got all night. And it ain’t like we're hurting anybody. Not like we’ll turn to dust, either. So it’s fine. And I’m here. Nothing bad’ll happen to you.” He claps the top of Octavius’s foot. “So, get your wiggle on, compadre! It’ll be just like explorin’ a really tight cave system.”

Octavius arches an eyebrow.

“Exploring caves is not a safe activity. Bears live in caves.” He thinks about this, wrinkling his nose. “And cannibals.” He keeps his tone deliberately sardonic and flat.

It is Jedediah’s turn to give him a look. He shakes his head on a loud exhale. “So. Much. Drama.” He squints. “Where do these thoughts even come from?”

They have discussed this particular excursion before, but only in the abstract. He’s even made an oath that one of their courtship nights would include a trip outside the museum’s walls. Now that the adventure is upon them, Octavius can only see all the ways the night can go terribly, terribly wrong. When it comes to matters such as these, roles reverse and Jedediah is the optimistic dreamer while Octavius is always the sensible — if melodramatic one.

Despite his misgivings, Octavius gets down on his hands and knees. He begins pulling himself through the open space. It’s a tight squeeze, and his steel greaves bite into his thighs and legs.

Small pebbles of sand crunch under his armor.

They have to wiggle, but bit by bit, they belly crawl their way to freedom.

* * *

_Later…_

Octavius’s upper body is outside, his lower torso and legs — on the other hand — are still under the door. Halfway out of the museum, Octavius’s paludamentum is caught on an uneven dimple on the underside of the exit.

He grunts. Attempting to push forward, he strains, a shrill bleat escaping past his clenched teeth. “Darling—”

“Yeah?”

“I’m stuck!”

Jedediah wiggles all of the way through. He takes one look and snickers. “It’s that booty. My baby’s got himself a plushy posterior.”

Octavius pauses long enough to stare at Jedediah in a careful, expressionless mask. He cannot decide whether to be supremely annoyed or intensely proud by that remark.

“Yes,” he finally admits, wiggling said _plushy posterior_ with emphasis for help.

Jedediah wets his lower lip, smiles a boyish grin that stretches from ear to ear and tilts his head, gaze glued to Octavius's backside, humming his appreciation.

Octavius slams his palm down.

“Jedediah!” he chastises. “This is no time for flirtation!”

The grin widens. Jedediah slides him a sly, sideways look and lets loose a rolling laugh. He shakes his head.

“Gee, Oct,” he says, hands gripping his belt, hip cocked. “That’s gotta be a first. You can dish it out, but ya still can’t take it.” He lifts his gloved palms. “Like — at all.”

Octavius’s face burns. _Because it’s true._ He wiggles, his armored torso scraping against the sand on the ground. “Do be silent and help me!”

Jedediah continues laughing.

“And I thought you liked that I talked so much.” At Octavius’s glower, he holds up his gloved palms. “Fine, fine. Hold your horses.”

He stoops to help pull Octavius the rest of the way through before Octavius can have a claustrophobic panic attack. Grabbing a piece of the pteruges, he jerks it forward.

When that doesn’t work, he grabs handfuls of the paludamentum and gives it a sharp yank as well. He grunts.

“It ain’t your rump, darlin’. It’s snagged on a piece of your armor. Hold it a sec!”

Jedediah hunches, then hitches up his breeches and gets down on his rump, scooting forward. He wraps his arms around Octavius’s armored torso. Using his legs for leverage, he pushes back against the door while pulling Octavius forward with all of his might.

A thin hiss turns into a strained shout. The cords of muscle along his neck stand out in stark, etched relief. A few sharp tugs later, and the suction releases Octavius with a quick _pop._

Jedediah overcompensates and Octavius screeches as the momentum has them both tumbling end over end down steep stone steps, thrashing their arms in front of them.

They land at the bottom, Octavius having to unwind his paludamentum from around his head and sweep it from his eyes.

As they are not immediately set upon by thieves or ne’er-do-wells — or cannibals, he pauses a moment to glare indignantly down at his husband, whom he straddles.

For once, he feels no stirrings.

His spouse is beaming at him.

Arms and legs splayed, Jedediah lifts his head and howls. “Whooo-weee! I told ya we’d be havin’ a daisy of a time!”

Octavius arches an eyebrow. He takes a deep breath, begins to speak, and decides there is no adequate reply. Then he rolls off Jedediah and bumps his head back against the cobbles.

* * *

_Later..._

They turn in complete circles peering up and around them.

Jedediah adopts a nonchalant pose. Octavius’s jaw is set, his mouth a grim line. His gaze bounces around nervously, spooking at all the alien sights and sounds, senses straining for any hint of the unseen.

_It is so loud!_

Not too far off, he can hear the moving horseless chariots roaring along the cobbled street like thunder. He gulps, sliding his arms around his shoulders, remembering another life.

He had been terrified of storms. Or, rather, thunder and lightning.

He feels safe from nature’s fury within the confines of the museum, surrounded by limestone and thick glass, but there was a different night, long ago...

The edges of his vision flickers, memory turning out an unwelcome flash from centuries before —

“During the Cantabrian campaign...” He peers around. “I narrowly avoided being struck by a bolt of lightning. It singed my transport and stopped the heart of a servant who walked ahead of me. He had been carrying a torch.” Memory replays the lightning strike, of the servant engulfed by a snapping, bright light, and then dropping. There and then gone.  

He jolts back to the present with an almost physical wrench. His heart slams hard and heavy against his ribs. He turns his head and is met with an electric blue gaze. His scalp prickles.

Jedediah blinks at the confession, staring at him with his head tilted to the side. His expression turns somber. The lines of his face deepen, making him appear wiser than his years.

Octavius’s own expression is heavily guarded. He turns away, not saying anything further on the matter.

The death of the servant cemented Octavius’s terror of storms throughout his life.

He is far bolder now, especially in the company of his best friend and beloved, but the hairs on the back of his neck still prickle at the similarities of noise between these chariots and that of the coming storm.

Repeatedly, he glances around, alert and watching moving shadows dance and twine along the cobbled road surface.

Pebbled stone crunches under his sandals with every step.

Feeling out of his depth, Octavius backs up, looking up at the building. He is jolted from his perusal when he comes into contact with something dry, gummy, and stretched.

Jumping, he sees a pitch dark, jagged shape.

He scrambles back.

_Fight or flight, fight or flight, flight or —_

His sword instantly leaves its scabbard.

Gripping the blade in both hands, he raises it high overhead. The sword comes straight down to cleave the black monstrosity in two.

“Die, heathen!”

His sword bounces off. He changes angles, swinging the sword in a wide arc. Again and again he beats at the blade-resistant hide.

Jedediah raises his palms. “Whataya doin’?”

Teeth gritted, Octavius says, “Slaying the beast!”

Jedediah comes around, hands in his pockets. Lifting his foot, he kicks at the monstrous shape. Then he tilts his head in thought. He raises his chin, lips parting.

After a moment, he taps Octavius on the shoulder. “Babe?”

He points up.

Octavius stops attacking the creature and looks up, up, and _up._

Jedediah breaks into a wide smile, eyes alight, as exuberant as any child.

“Whoa! It’s a gigantic wagon wheel!” He takes a running leap and climbs up the tread of this — Octavius tilts his head — _monstrous_ wagon wheel. Jedediah glances down. “Come on, Ockie! It’s one of them automobiles with an internal combustion engine! Like during story time. You know. Starting back with the _Benz Patent Motor Car!”_

He lifts his head, practically glowing with enthusiasm.

Octavius’s eyes narrow, a sneaking suspicion blossoming.

Jedediah is still talking with great eagerness. “— patented in 1885 or 1886, I think. I missed it by fifty years, or so! Huh. Shaped odd.” He finds a metal bar and then hoists himself the rest of the way up and into the undercarriage.

Octavius stomps his foot. “Jedediah! Come down from there this instant!” Ignored, he sighs dramatically. “This is what I get for marrying a climber,” he mutters to himself.

He can just make out Jedediah’s hair springing down in all directions as he peers at him. In the dim light, Jedediah's blue eyes are so dark they appear black.

“Come on. It’s still warm up here!”

Pursing his lips, Octavius grabs hold of the tread. His hand comes away blackened. He pulls a face. “Jedediah, this carriage is filthy!”

Octavius can make out Jedediah’s teeth gleaming in the shadows at the comment. Legs in constant motion, he shouts down, “Dirt washes off, Oct. Don’t be such a dad-gum baby!” Jedediah’s voice echoes hollowly as he travels further and further away. “Come on!”

At that moment, a door is slammed with enough force to rock the automobile.

A heavy vibration shakes the ground, followed by a tremendous roar and the _monster-wagon-horseless-carriage-motor car_ begins quaking. It sputters, coughs, and catches, vibrating and bouncing. For a moment, Octavius stares blankly, too surprised to move. His stomach turns over at the sound.

He snaps his head around. “Jedediah!” he hisses. “What did you touch?”

Jedediah pokes his head down. “I didn’t touch anything!” His hair is vibrating, too, but the movement has nothing to do with his mood.

Octavius pauses, and then turns his head just as there is a high shriek, an oily burning smell, and the wheel lurches forward, spinning on the cobbles.

“Octy!”

With a speed born from panic, Octavius power climbs up the wheel, past the dirty metal rungs and twisting cylinders over near where Jedediah is hunkered down as the chariot gives another hard jolt.

Springs and gears buck.

The engine screams, and pebbles of hard stone and sand spray up from the tires and are tossed against the undercarriage.

Small rocks fly through the air and are obliterated with the crushing force of twisting, grinding metal.

The cobbles blur.

Wind howls.

Jedediah’s hair whips wildly around his face as the automobile picks up speed and bullets through the night. His shirt untucks, the tail flapping as though he has sprouted wings, while the edges of Octavius’s paludamentum lifts and spins and twists out behind him.

Octavius holds onto the undercarriage, warring with tilting, rolling, rattling, and scraping gears, his fingers scrabbling for purchase that doesn’t include the air current sucking him under the automobile’s wheels.

Wind rushes past his face, beating at his arms and over his toes.

With both hands, he finds a handhold and grapples on, teeth bared in desperation and fear. He wraps his thighs around the bars. The engine and road vibrations penetrate from the soles of his sandals to the tips of his short hair, relentlessly rattling his bones. His teeth are even humming.

He is jolted when the motor car whips to the right, and the wind shifts direction.

If they are not careful, one ill-timed gust will have them rolling, sliding, and smashing against the grinding mechanisms.

Octavius clenches his eyes shut, but when he does look down, he can see the pavement beneath them whirring past at a dizzying rate.

The city slides by as the automobile veers and Octavius is able to see wildly sweeping glimmers from grilles shaped into wicked-looking, up-tilting mouths. Headlamps of oncoming traffic glow like the truly possessed.

His senses are assaulted on all levels as more oddly shaped automobiles advance toward them. A squeal rises above the maelstrom, sounding strangely like something out of the Cretaceous period.

Wind rushes against his face. It surges and bangs against the undercarriage. It screams. His eyes swim with colors he could have never before imagined, his ears ring with the further deafening blasts from the various transports as they rocket past. Bits of cobbles and loose sand ricochet up to scratch his arms and pummel against his steel greaves.

Octavius turns his head. The wind blasts at Jedediah’s hair, pulling it back from his face. His grin is wide as though he is having the time of his life.

_Typical._

Octavius squeezes his eyes shut again, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. The combination of air and moisture chills him, perspiration sliding down his face, creeping down his spine as he breathes in the heated, oily, thick scent of the flat-topped, tarred-and-pebbled cobbles racing past.

The vehicle flies with near-supernatural speed, faster than even Baby can move at a full run along the darkened road. It veers, slows, stops, and sways at seemingly random intervals.

With the whip and curl of the wind buffeting against him, it is all Octavius can do to hold tight.

“You okay there, baby doll?” Jedediah has to shout to be heard over the rushing tumult and the growl coming from their transport.

Octavius thinks he may be hyperventilating. His words are thick. “I think...I think I’m going to vomit.”

Jedediah braves letting go of his perch, gloved hand fumbling against the continuous shaking undercarriage, to rub Octavius’s neck. “Deep breaths.”

They angle to the right and slow.

At last, the automobile is brought to a full, abrupt halt, and Octavius is snapped forward. His head smacks against a metal pipe. It isn’t enough to completely brain him, but the throbbing still smarts.

He can feel the vibration from the roars as the transport remains idling, jarring his bones.

The engine cuts off and the undercarriage creaks. Then, the motor car dips at an angle to the left side.

Even after the transport is tamed, and the rattling, roaring has subsided, touch memory has his body jittering. He feels seasick, as though he and Jedediah are still in motion.

Not unlike traveling on a fast moving warship, his head seems temporarily full of humming white noise.

He jerks as the vehicle’s door opens and slams with a loud, squeaky crashing _blam._ His muscles tense at the sound of booted feet crunching against stray pebbles on stone.

Swiveling his head, he follows the sight of those boots as they clop around the back of the motor car and then disappear from view, stepping up onto raised cobbles.

Stomach muscles fluttering, Octavius shakes against the metal bar, his chest heaving in and out. There is a pounding pain in his head.

Beside him, Jedediah is already moving, swinging his legs over metal. He drops down in a hard crouch.

Jedediah must pry Octavius loose from his grip on the undercarriage. He holds up his arms, attempting to coax Octavius down. “Come on. We’ve stopped.”

Octavius opens his eyes wide with incomprehension, pulse hammering in his temples, attempting to get his bearings. His arms tremble violently. Weak to the point of collapse, he shakes his head _no,_ and snaps his eyes shut.

 _There is so much noise!_ Sound everywhere. Voices. Shouting, laughing, talking, and whispering. The growling, whirring, and screeches of automobiles.

It is sensory overload. Breathing is relegated to simple instinct; he shudders.

Warm hands touch the backs of his palms. Head beginning to slow down a little, Octavius peeks one eye open. Jedediah’s palms clasp the sides of Octavius’s face, blue gaze searching his. “There you are.”

Jedediah’s grin is so wide it makes him squint, and Octavius is undone by the tenderness he finds in his gaze.

Glancing down only long enough to pull off one glove at a time with his teeth, Jedediah tucks them into the front of his breeches.

Then his arms come back up.

One last squeeze of Octavius’s shoulder, and then, slowly, he works at prying Octavius’s fingers loose. “Forget the metal and wrap your arms around my neck.”

Octavius does not move, but then, on instinct, he does, scrambling forward.

Wincing at the pain in his calves and thighs, he lunges.

His fingers are curled as though still clutching hold to the bar, and his fingertips tingle even though the roar of the motor has died. His grime-stained hands continue shaking and his arms are like steel bands, molding Jedediah to him hard enough to bruise.

Jedediah does not complain, even when taking most of Octavius’s weight.

Their gazes lock.

Jedediah presses his lips to Octavius’s temple, eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. Quietly, he mouths, “Sshh. I gotcha. Just relax now, baby. I gotcha. One step at a time.” The words vibrate against Octavius’s throat. Warm fingers and careful hands slide across his shoulder for a brief moment.

Octavius shivers once more, a ripple running through him.

Then, Jedediah is blindly climbing them down, step by gummy step, negotiating them gracefully as he would a towering mountain face.

He angles his head, glancing around the best he can. His movements are fluid. “You’re doin’ fine. Just fine.” Once he realizes Octavius is entirely with him and not just mindlessly hanging on, he breaks into such a wide smile that it makes him squint again. He huffs softly.

“We havin’ fun yet?” he asks companionably.

Octavius scoffs. “Where’s the hat of doom when I need it to use it upon you?”

Jedediah laughs, eyes cast down. He angles his head. “Ya know I just cooked this whole scheme up so I could get your hands all over me,” he teases, voice pitched low.

The blue eyes flicker up. Half his mouth curls into a smile.

He seems mildly embarrassed by this confession. It is also a complete and utter fabrication, of course. Jedediah has tamed down considerably, but he remains what he truly is at his core. A feral creature.

Sexual intimacy aside, he still requires a great deal of personal space. Although he steps out of his comfort zone, making concessions for Octavius who craves the comfort of touch almost as much as he craves oxygen. Jedediah’s words are appreciated, however. Octavius uses the physical connection and the flirting to ground himself and stay focused on their banter rather than his own fear.

It wins an immediate grin from Octavius, his face lighting up. He harrumphs. “There are far simpler ways to achieve your goal, darling. We are absolutely, completely, irrevocably married.” His palms rub lightly against Jedediah’s neck, a touch of flirtation in his gaze. “No matter your machinations, you will find me a willing partner.”

Jedediah squints. “Are you sayin’ you're easy?”

Octavius’s lips quirk up in a playful smile, his belly curling with delight. His gaze roams. He says nothing for a moment, distracted with untangling Jedediah's hair with his fingers. It curls thick and alluring around his ear lobes. Remaining silent, he inclines his head.

After a beat, he shrugs and says, “Call it what you like.”

Jedediah laughs, his blue eyes luminous. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

Octavius chuckles.

“Still,” Jedediah says, “It’s been a hell of a ride.” He studies Octavius’s face for a moment, a smile of accomplishment stretched across his mouth. “I like finding new ways ta’ keep ya on your toes. Otherwise, you’ll get bored with me.”

Octavius shakes his head. His eyes shine. He hums happily. “Never, my love.”

Jedediah tilts his chin to one side, expression never changing. He remains silent and attentive.

At last, their feet touch solid ground. It is a shock. Octavius does not know quite how it happened, not recalling the climb, and utterly grateful for the distraction.

Conversation quiets.

Jedediah’s smile is soft. Then, he starts. He squints. “I think the giant’s gone.”

“Where did he go?”

Jedediah shrugs. “Beats me.”

There’s gentleness in his gaze, slow-burning and serene. His eyes dip to Octavius's mouth in a way that sends heat pulsing through Octavius. Jedediah rests his thumbs beneath Octavius's jaw.

Octavius suddenly struggles to keep his breath even.

Their solemn moment is interrupted by another Cretaceous roar of monsters, more growling, and the squealing of these gigantic wagon wheels upon the cobbled street.

Distracted, Jedediah ducks his head out from under the undercarriage. Octavius wobbles back and forth unsteadily.

Jedediah hunkers down on his heels, resting his arms on his knees with a feral grace.

He glances back up at Octavius, eyes wide in the dark. “Hey, Octy, come and see this!”

Octavius joins him. Their jaws drop open.

The landscape around them has completely changed.

They are greeted by an alien world.

The night is alive. It is not like the fires from the Mayans sacred flame, or the torchlight in the Roman diorama. It isn’t even the soft orange glow from the Old West, but the boldness of a new age. One that is entirely unfamiliar.

Automobiles of all shapes and sizes idle along a busy street, waiting and taking off at different intersections, choreographed — mostly — by uniquely-colored light changes. Shops are brightly, almost blindingly lit up. Refreshment is advertised with eye-catching, flashing signs. New York’s citizens hasten down smoothed stone footpaths in a continual rush under well-lighted sizzling, electric lamps.

Jedediah smacks his arm. He points. “Look! It’s Sunshine.”

_Gus._

Even from a distance, they can see and hear the slightly overweight and balding night guard. The diminutive giant lets out an impatient exhalation, a familiar grumbling under his breath.

Emboldened at seeing someone he recognizes, Jedediah slaps the back of his gloved hand against Octavius’s armored chest. “Come on. Let’s follow ‘em.”

Octavius grabs hold of the monstrous wagon wheel from behind, feet spread wide apart, refusing to budge. His heart thunders, and he prays for invisibility from all the giants meandering past. “But our transport! We have no way of returning home without it!”

“He has ta’ come back for the motor car sooner or later, Oct. So, come on, live a little. Let’s explore while we up and got the chance!”

Octavius glances back at the wheel, hesitant.

“Let’s go!” Jedediah calls over his shoulder, already on the move.

Octavius wrestles with the choice of whether to follow him or remain behind, and then realizes it is no choice at all. As Jedediah informs him on a regular basis: he’s going. Grinding his teeth quietly, he stiffens his spine and says, “I’m going to live to regret this.” It is an oath.

He peers around him, listening to the hustle and bustle of the night.

Above the whirring, thundering engines, he shouts, “Jedediah! Wait for me! I’m coming!” Then he pushes off from the wheel, racing to catch up.

* * *

_Later..._

They track Gus a little ways down the footpath, entering a shop. The bell over the door chimes his entrance.

Legs pumping, they race to make it inside before the door locks them out. They leave the night behind and enter into the heart of chaos. The cavernous room is filled with bright fluorescent lighting and the sweeping notes of fast-playing music coming from somewhere they know not where.

The screeching hits them like a wave. The noise alone is loud enough to be disorienting. Immediately deafened, they cover their ears.

The actions do not help, so they slowly lower their hands.

“Lordy! What is that God awful racket?” Jedediah shouts to be heard over the rapidly pounding bass.

Octavius can feel the booming drumbeats rattling his teeth, and pulsing through the back of his armor and out his sternum. It even vibrates the walls.

_“We are strong_

_No one can tell us we're wrong_

_Searching our hearts for so long_

_Both of us knowing_

_Love is a battlefield…”_

Dumbstruck, Octavius peers at Jedediah, asking a silent question. Jedediah clutches his belt buckle and peers back. He offers nothing in reply except for a shrug.

Glancing around for a few moments, he elbows Octavius and then points up at two thrumming, large magic black boxes. The raucous beats are coming from there, soft fabric pulsing in time to each beat of the music.

Open-mouthed, Octavius stares. Now that he sees the pulsating fabric, it is very obvious where the crooning — if he can even call it that, it is more like shouting — is coming from.

The loud music, sounding noticeably fainter, slowly fades and they take advantage of the silence to study their surroundings.

Silence is relative. The loud beats are exchanged for a whole new set of noises that were drowned out before.

This din is even more alien than the so-called music. There are bleeps and bloops and clangs and ping-ding-boings, and ceaselessly playing sirens coming from colorfully decorated sorcerer’s cabinets. Each tall, vertical, block is accompanied by flashing, strobing lights, looking down into tinted window displays.

The top shelf of one cabinet reads: _Pac-Man._

Youths gather around a cabinet, their eyes fixed forward, attention completely on the tinted window. Heads pressed together, their eyes dart. They are utterly spellbound by what they are seeing, hands working knobs sticking out from the shelves and punching lighted disks embedded into the unit.

A wailing siren blares loud and long. It is followed by a mechanical voice saying, “ _Game Over,”_ and then strident, frustrated oaths from one of the youths. The one rears back and smacks the unit, causing it to rock sideways. The other youth cheers, hopping up and down.

Arm lifted, Octavius jolts back at this synchronized reaction, cringing in alarm.

The jangling cacophony is overwhelming to the senses. Blessedly, the noises are swallowed up once more by another ballad — another woman singing about a glamorous life.

Octavius and Jedediah peer at each other, and then glance further around, moving deeper into the shop.

The interior of the establishment consists of a large center counter, a kitchen in the back, and booths that line the walls. Behind the counter is a large, circular sign.

 _“Hail, Caesar!”_ Jedediah reads, his voice struggling to compete over the thunderous noise. He squints, tilting his head, attempting to pronounce the rest of the shop’s title. His nose scrunches up. “Pizz-a? _Hail, Caesar!_ Pizz-a?”

Octavius turns. “What’s a pizz-a?”

Jedediah looks at him and shrugs, hands gripping his belt buckle. “Ya got me, pal. It’s a dining establishment of some kind. That’s about as far as I can tell.”

“Indeed.”

More than a food stall, but less than an inn, the shop does appear to be some sort of eating establishment. The building itself is large, and painted in Roman colors.

The warmth of the shop, muted conversation, noises of plates clacking together, and the scraping of eating utensils would be almost soothing if not for the music and the dings, blings, and sirens.

The smell of garlic and baking dough is strong, as is the odor of fine cheeses. Octavius breathes in the aroma of various spices, tomato sauce, and cooking meats and vegetables. The smells are all quite exquisite.

Peering up, Jedediah squints. Octavius follows his gaze. His lips part in surprise.

A brightly-lighted sketch representation of a stoic-faced, bristle-helmeted Roman soldier holds up a round pie topped with cheese, cooked vegetables and meats. The soldier winks at them.

Octavius backs up a step. He cocks his head, blinking in amazement. Unlike the museum, this lighted sketch, though animated by some  magical means, does not appear sentient. The red and blue lights move in a well-choreographed, timed, pattern that is completely mechanical in nature rather than organic.

Peering above the counter space, Octavius can see an oil stain on the ceiling splattered in a circular shape that looks quite similar to the artwork displayed on the wall — an apparent, greasy mishap.

He nudges his spouse, nodding towards it. Jedediah takes in everything, eyes wide, mouth agape, his gaze wandering around the establishment in wonder.

The shop is nearly empty, save for Gus, the food preparers running around in the kitchen, and a few patrons loitering around the blaring machines and a group seated in a far corner booth at the back, speaking in hushed conversation and contentedly eating their meal that must be the advertised _pizz-a._

Someone from the kitchen pokes his head out. It is a young man with dark, spiky hair, olive skin, and a thin, lanky frame. He wipes his hands on a food spattered apron. His name tag is partially obscured by several large buttons attached to his ensemble. He greets Gus with a bright, eager smile that dimples his cheeks and reaches intelligent-looking green eyes. “You here for a pick up?”

A frown crosses Gus’s craggy features. He jerks back, looking the young man over. He lets out a sour, phlegmy grumble and slams his hands down on the counter, causing everything on the flat surface to jump. “Look, _granola bar,”_ he snaps dismissively. “I’m not looking for anything you young upstarts are into these days — like —” he wrinkles his nose, mouth twisting with distaste, irate “— like _sexy_ things!”

Conversation stutters into silence.

The patrons in the back gawk, their pizz-a slices hovering, frozen in front of their open mouths.

The young man appears dazed.

Gus straightens and he scowls back at the curious onlookers. His foot begins tapping.

Cowed, everyone returns to their own business. They are all suddenly very interested in their food.

Octavius and Jedediah keep back, watching the exchange, listening unobtrusively.

Gus leans forward, white hair standing out in two shocked clumps on either side of his head. “I’m here for my pies, _Chex Mix._ I just want my pies. No sex stuff. Two pepperonis and a sausage.”

A few snickers ripple through the eating establishment. The response takes one customer by such a surprise that he snorts his drink up his nose. The man coughs and pinches his sinuses in pain. He snickers, and then laughs out loud. His laughter morphs into another cough. He beats at his chest and reaches for his napkin, attempting to stifle his laughing. Recovering his composure, he then whispers an aside that makes his companions burst into renewed laughter.

Gus scowls again and the smiles disintegrate from the other patrons’ faces. They immediately become fascinated with their plates again.

The youth at the counter doesn’t reply for a moment. He colors, appearing to still be speechlessly befuddled. His brow furrows. After a beat, he checks his ledger and clears his throat, voice deceptively casual. “Name?”

Gus’s mouth, opened to shout at him again, closes. He studies the young man intently, eyes narrowed. “Gus!” he finally answers gruffly. Then mutters, “You _bran muffin.”_

The young man behind the counter blinks, peering up. He tilts his head. “Okay…” Then he goes back to scanning the names on the ledger again. He brings his head up and smiles, dimpling. His expression is amicable and perfectly polite. “Gus. Right. Found you. Back in a jiffy.” He pushes from the counter and hustles away, whistling, while Gus shoots him a narrow-eyed, baleful look.

Octavius stares after the server. He stands on tiptoes, craning his head for a better view. “That youth is rather uniquely attractive,” he observes.

Gripping his belt, the awed expression slips off Jedediah’s face. He slowly turns, dragging his gaze toward Octavius.

Pausing at the focused attention, Octavius realizes what he’s said. He shifts under the uncomfortable weight of Jedediah’s scrutiny and slides his eyes sideways. “Well, he is.”

Jedediah works his jaw, studying him intensely. “Uh-huh…”

“Not as ridiculously attractive as you are, of course,” Octavius concedes, backpedaling.

Irritation leaves Jedediah’s eyes, but his expression does not change. He remains tight-lipped and very quiet beside him.

Feeling an immediate niggle of guilt, Octavius clears his throat.

Gus drums his fingers. He turns, grumbling over the pulsing beats. _“Young buck…”_ He jams his hands into his pants pockets and leans against the counter, studying the monstrous menu on the wall.

At the motion, Octavius and Jedediah both jolt, and dive for cover.

* * *

_Later..._

The young man comes back from the kitchen with two flat boxes. “I got your pizza.”

Gus grunts and glances down, a proverbial rain cloud reappearing back over his head. He looks back up at the worker and Octavius can see the shift in gears behind his eyes from irritated to accusatory.

“Now, listen, _caddy shack,_ I ordered three pizzas.” He holds up his fingers for emphasis. “Not two!”

The youth draws his brows together, an expression of bewilderment on his face. He frowns and then peers down at the two boxes, taking a step back. “Oh, no!” He goes on, agitated. “I could’ve sworn you only said two over the phone.”

Gus responds with an empty stare, making the young man appear uncertain.

“Look, I’m real sorry.” He points to himself. “I'm the new guy and I must have written down your order wrong.” His tone is conspiratorial as he leans forward to confess, “See, what I really want to do is be an inventor. But my dad says I gotta come back down from the clouds.”

A shadow passes over Gus’s face. Octavius can tell from the man’s chin that he is having an internal battle to keep a firm grip on his temper. From what Octavius has observed, Gus has a forceful, pugnacious personality, very limited interpersonal relationship skills, and few filters.

“Do I look like I care about your hopes and dreams, _snack attack?_ ” His normal, aggrieved tone morphs into high-pitched agitation. “I don’t care anything about it! _”_ he shouts.

At the retort, the youth’s amicable smile drops off his face.

Not having it, Gus’s fists shake.

He rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves and nimbly lifts his leg as though to climb over the counter, a frenetic ball of geriatric energy, his round face red from exertion and over-excitement. “You know I once went nine rounds with John L. Sullivan? I'm gonna take you apart!”

“Oh, that’s not a good idea…” Eyes wide in a mixture of surprise and horror, the young man raises both of his palms. He backs up, desperate to defuse the situation. He waves his hands back and forth. “Hey, you know what? No problem, we got no problem here! I’ll make your third pizza, all right? And you can have all three pizzas free of charge! My mistake, my mistake!”

Gus stops frothing at the mouth. Calmly, he hops down from the counter. “Make it four pizzas, an order of breadsticks, and a cherry coke, _Franken Berry,_ and you got yourself a deal, _lunch box_.”

He sounds self-satisfied.

The server blinks. Pursing his lips, he tilts his head.

* * *

_Later..._

After calming Gus down through bribery — free, unlimited refills on cherry coke — and getting the third and fourth pizzas, as well as his order of breadsticks prepared and into the oven, the young man whistles while he wipes down the counter.

Gus keeps himself occupied with the music blaring from the magic black boxes. His knees snap up and down in time to the beat flooding the eating establishment.

When the youth peers over at him, Gus instantly scowls, nose scrunching up. Caught, he bristles and straightens, back going ramrod-straight. “You kids and your long-haired music!”

The young man blinks, shrugs, and goes back to wiping the counter. There is a shrill ringing sound and he drops his rag and picks up a device. He wedges it between the crook of his neck and his shoulder. _“Hail Caesar!_ Pizza, this is Larry. How can I help you?”

Arms crossed, Gus still scowls, his expression blankly hostile. He turns his head, muttering oaths under his breath.

Gus’s attention diverted, Octavius and Jedediah cross into the parlor.

Jedediah looks up at the massive, recently vacated corner booth towering over them and then at Octavius. They exchange a glance. Octavius nods. They climb the booth, and then shimmy up a red and white checker board tablecloth. There are pizza slices resting, half-eaten, on a cardboard plate in the middle of the table, left by the earlier patrons.

A candle burns in a red glass jar, glimmering against the side of the table nearest wall, causing shadows to bounce on the dark wood paneling and see-through jars of spices along the side of the table.

Octavius studies the spices with interest, along with some modern day currency left beside a receipt on a black change tray, and a large, plastic-encased menu propped up against the wall on the table while Jedediah bends in a cautious crouch near a white plate with leftovers.

Jedediah tilts his head.

“Pizza…” he says quietly, turning the word over in his mouth, pronouncing the word correctly now that he’s heard it instead of just having read it.

Octavius swivels his head and watches with trepidation. His eyes are wide. He is very quiet, walking over to stand beside Jedediah. “Darling…”

Jedediah flashes him a grin that is all mischief.

Once more removing his gloves, he dips his fingers in the concoction, pulling off a long string of cheese from the top of the pizza. It leaves a bald patch of dough covered with tomato sauce.

Frowning, Octavius kicks suspiciously at crust that looks more like a trauma victim than anything. “We don’t know where that pizza’s been. The patrons could be diseased. Or, it could be an assassination attempt. Thwarted, of course,” he observes clinically. “Regardless, we only eat _your_ cooking. We agreed.”

Jedediah lifts the stringy cheese up to the light and sniffs it. “It smells nice.” He holds it out. “Here, take a whiff.”

Octavius’s nose scrunches. He jerks back, making an aggrieved grunt. “Revolting!”

The gooey pizza isn’t so much revolting as an unknown quantity. And Octavius already has issues with food that isn’t prepared by Jedediah. In fact, considering their history with food prepared by a third party, he can hardly believe Jedediah is entertaining the notion of tasting a stranger’s leftover pizza.

He watches in fascination as Jedediah first licks, and then takes a tentative bite of cheese into his mouth. Jedediah’s eyes instantly light up, and then roll back in his head in absolute bliss. He chews slowly, savoring the flavor. _“Mmm._ Oh my God, baby! This is delicious!” He holds it out for Octavius. “Try it.”

Octavius pokes the melted cheese with his finger, suspicious when it rises back up on its own. He pulls back. “It’s...sticky.”

“You _like_ sticky,” Jedediah says reasonably, continuing to hold up the cheese glob. His reply is clear over the din of the eating establishment.

Octavius feels color rising to his cheeks, extending all the way down to his toes. He pulls a face. “Jedediah!” he chastises. “That’s private!”

Humor glints Jedediah’s gaze once more. He scoffs out a laugh and hangs his head, looking up through his lashes. “See. Now ya know how I feel when you go on and on about my _package_ to the other exhibits.”

Octavius pulls another face. “I am proud of you. _All_ of you. This includes your _package._ That is why I speak of you to all and sundry,” he grouses.

He attempts to center his dignity while Jedediah first wrinkles up his nose at that reply, looks askance at him, and then takes a much larger bite of the pizza, getting tomato sauce smeared on his lips and on his mouth. His eyes flutter closed once more. “Mmm,” he says with his mouth full.

Unconvinced, Octavius nevertheless leans forward and kisses Jedediah, licking the stray sauce; warm breath ghosting over Jedediah’s lips. He pulls back, feeling the knot of trepidation inside him loosen and unravel. “It _is_ good!”

Jedediah beams. “Told ya.”

Octavius dips his head for another taste. When their lips part, he remains where he is for a moment, and quietly intones, “Extraordinary.” The word falls against Jedediah’s lips. He pulls away.

“You should listen to me more often.” Jedediah licks his fingers.

“I always listen to you. I simply may not adhere to your wisdom.” Octavius leans forward and brushes his lips over Jedediah’s once more. It is a brief, chaste kiss this time.

Jedediah glances thoughtfully down at the pizza. “This don’t look all that hard to recreate. I betcha I could make this at home.” He peeks under the layers of meats, vegetables and cheese, studying the sauce and ingredients, running off a verbal checklist for later.

Octavius hums, allowing his eyes to wander briefly during the rundown. Slowly, he nods. “That would be pleasing. Thank you.”

Jedediah grins at Octavius’s manners, catching his eye.

Having enough of adventure for one evening and in need of physical connection, Octavius takes the liberty of seating himself on Jedediah’s lap and draping his arms over his neck. Here, he knows he doesn't have to pretend to be stronger than he is.

Jedediah looks up with his head tilted to the side, shooting him a measured look, blue eyes curious. The strobing, colorful, dancing lights of the magic cabinets bounce off his hair.

“Glorious,” Octavius says, marveling.

Another song begins playing.

_“You run, run, run away_

_It's your heart that you betray_

_Feeding on your hungry eyes_

_I bet you're not so civilized…”_

Jedediah slides his arm around Octavius’s waist, and Octavius snuggles closer, resting his head on Jedediah’s shoulder. He closes his eyes, making a soft sighing noise. The longer he is held, the safer he feels, allowing the chorus to sweep him away.

_“...Well, isn't love primitive?_

_A wild gift that you want to give_

_Break out of captivity_

_And follow me stereo jungle child_

_Love is the kill_

_Your heart's still wild…”_

The alien sights and the strange pings, cha-chings, dings, and sirens, along with the worry of being so very far from home fade from focus. Curiously, his mood shifts and he enjoys himself.

Movement catches his eye.

_“...Shooting at the walls of heartache bang, bang_

_I am the warrior…”_

Through a large picture window, Octavius spies two young lovers caught up in the night. They are laughing and chasing after each other along the stone path just outside the dining establishment.

The young woman turns from the chase and is caught. She lifts her head, mouth open wide, giggling as her young male companion grabs hold of her waist, turns, and then spins her back toward him.

Their gazes lock, and they smile at each other, the way all brand new couples smile at each other.

He twirls her out, and then brings her toward him, pulling her close. His arms support her back. She laughs again as as she is bent backward, long hair fanning out behind her as she is dipped.

Octavius’s eyes dart toward Jedediah. He smiles.

_“...You talk, talk, talk to me_

_Your eyes touch me physically_

_Stay with me, we'll take the night_

_As passion takes another bite_

_Oh, who's the hunter, who's the game_

_I feel the beat call your name_

_I hold you close in victory_

_I don't want to tame your animal style_

_You won't be caged_

_In the call of the wild…”_

This is not his music. However, feeling the staccato rhythm vibrating through his chest, he sways slightly in time to the beat while his head rhythmically bobs from side to side.

At first, he feels utterly ridiculous, but that, too, fades to so much background noise. Getting lost in the song, he is inspired. Taking his cue from these modern lovers, he is besieged by a simple, glorious, mischievous impulse.

He grins widely and yanks Jedediah close.

Octavius rocks. He begins with a simple chest bump.

_“...Shooting at the walls of heartache…”_

Gazes connected, he moves his hips, giving a fast roll, popping and snapping their shoulders in time to the beat, encouraging Jedediah to follow him and mimic the movements on his own, dancing together while remaining seated.

Jedediah squints.

Octavius can feel the physical manifestation of his piqued interest rub against him through the leather breeches.

Jedediah looks vaguely embarrassed, but laughs. He doesn't pull free from the impromptu lap dance. Granted, Octavius is less wanton sex god at present, his movements more playful and silly in nature, adhering to the strict _do not strip him down naked and ravish him in public_ rule.

Jedediah says nothing and his body is stiff and statue-like in its stillness while Octavius twists from side to side with the beat.

_“...Shooting at the walls of heartache…”_

Although, if anyone happened to observe them, no one would make the mistake of assuming they are merely close friends.

They are too familiar with each other, their bodies curling instinctively around the other while Octavius dances them in silence for a few heartbeats.

Still seated in Jedediah's lap, Octavius leans forward, pauses for dramatic effect, laces his fingers through Jedediah's hair, and playfully dips him.

_“...And heart to heart you'll win_

_Heart to heart you'll win_

_If you survive, the warrior, the warrior…”_

The blond silken strands spill against the back of his hand, tickling his knuckles. Jedediah laughs again, giddy and carefree, fingers cupping Octavius’s elbows.

When Octavius brings him back up, their bodies move together to the beat.

_Success!_

His sweet little church mouse.

Giddy with triumph, Octavius drapes his arms around Jedediah’s neck. He squeezes excitedly, holding Jedediah close, hugging and rocking with him.

_”...and victory is mine!”_

“Sounds like they’re playin’ our song,” Jedediah says in a low undertone, sliding his hands to encircle Octavius’s hips.

Eyes shining, Octavius pulls back with a grin.

* * *

_Later…_

Larry brings out the third and fourth pizzas, along with the breadsticks. Then, he refills Gus’s cherry coke.

Once Larry turns his head, Octavius and Jedediah hop down from their booth.

Hands interlocked tight to keep from being separated, they sprint after the now view-obstructed giant as he backs out of the door with his order.

The door is still ajar and they hop and skip sideways, shouldering past it before it closes.

* * *

_Later…_

By the time Gus makes his wobbly, grumbly, nearly blind trek back to the motor car with his boxes of free food, Octavius feels much better about their excursion.

Headlamps loom in blinding brilliance from every direction, sirens wail, and there are angry horns blaring from the motor cars, but his spouse’s warmth beside him, his familiar, masculine scent — and the fact they are making their way home long before dawn calms his lingering anxiety.

The ride back, while still bone jarring and completely traumatic, is much better now that Octavius now knows what to expect. And this time they hide behind a gigantic, rectangular numbered plate stationed at the back of the automobile. The rushing, near-solid column of wind is less ferocious here. Although they still must hold on tight due to all the jerks, jitters, and swerves of their ride.

Octavius isn't certain if the problem is Gus’s driving or the bumps in the road, although it is most likely a combination of both.

They arrive where they began, cautiously waiting for Gus to climb out from the motor car. The night guard balances the pizza boxes, breadsticks, and his cherry coke, and then fumbles with his keys. He moves off to a hidden side door before they leave their hiding spot.

Hearing the museum entrance slam closed, Jedediah peeks his head out from behind the rectangular plate and jumps down with a crow of delight. Then he turns and holds out his arms, easing Octavius down gently to the debris-strewn cobbles.

Breaths coming fast, they quickly make their way toward the steep steps that lead back to the same door they escaped from earlier.

“Wow! What a ride!”

Jedediah turns around and howls into the night.

Enthusiastic and animated over their adventures, he gives a loud whoop and curves his wrist, punching the air in a roundhouse swing. “We gotta do this again sometime!”

Octavius scoffs. “Let’s not.”

Turning to him, Jedediah gives him one of his blinding smiles.

Then, he squints and his grin goes soft. He clicks his tongue, his voice low and more muted than usual. “You got oil all over your face.” He unties his neckerchief and reaches over, wiping the grime away.

Octavius stands still and gives him a slow crooked smile in return, allowing the ministrations as the skin-warmed cloth touches his oil-smudged forehead, brushes down the length of his nose, and across his cheek.

Watching Jedediah with relaxed interest, Octavius’s eyes blink closed contentedly with each gentle swipe. He tilts his chin and breathes out carefully, leaning into the touch, curving his fingers around the back of Jedediah’s gloved palm.

“You had fun,” Jedediah cajoles. “Admit it.”

Octavius hums softly and entwines their fingers. Looking up, the blue eyes hold his.

“Perhaps. And you are a good companion. But I do not wish to be so far away from home. We may not be so fortunate in our choice of transport next time and might not make it back before dawn.”

Jedediah heaves out a sigh. “Yeah…” His voice is aggrieved. He turns his head. There is a subtle shift in his posture as he becomes distracted.

Octavius turns to follow his gaze. A large tree.

Jedediah points. “So how’s about instead of long range travel, we climb _that_ bad boy tomorrow.”

Octavius eyes dart back to the tree gravely. He purses his lips.

“I promise to be a gentleman,” Jedediah offers, bobbing back and forth hopefully.

Octavius lifts his arms, draping them around Jedediah’s neck. “Now where is the fun in that?” he asks, head tilted at an angle, both eyebrows raised. _“Hmm?”_

Jedediah huffs. Smiling shyly, he dips his head. He glances at Octavius through his lashes.

Giddy little butterflies surge and rebound crazily against the inside of Octavius's belly. They grin at each other like a couple of children.

Octavius tilts his head to the other side, considering. Slowly, he nods. “That suggestion is acceptable.”

Jedediah lifts his head and bounces. Smiling a bad-boy smile, he is anything but. “It’s a date!”

Octavius’s mouth curves.

Then, he suddenly grabs Jedediah by his blue shirt and pulls him forward for a very brief and powerful kiss before pushing him back.

Jedediah's eyes are large; he stumbles, appearing kiss-drunk. _“Wow…”_

Leaving Jedediah goggling after him, he swishes his paludamentum and climbs up the steep steps.

Head lifted high, he says, “Join me inside the museum, darling. I intend to ravish you in every way imaginable for the rest of the evening.”

Smug, he glances back. One brow kicks up for dramatic effect.  

He shouts on a rush of exhilaration and breaks into a run when Jedediah darts forward at full speed.

Jedediah chases him the rest of the way up the steps.

* * *

_One night later…_

They reach out, grab small fissures in the tree, hoist themselves up, and begin their ascent.

Octavius slides his hand along the unyielding, roughened, dew-dampened bark. He cautiously keeps his eyes focused intently on the placement of his feet.

They keep climbing until their motions form into a rhythm.

Catlike, they leap from branch to branch.

* * *

_Later…_

Looking out at the vast unknown, Jedediah twines his gloved fingers through Octavius’s as they lounge in their perch, enjoying a soft breeze and the sheer splendor that is the night.

The wind blows and whispers its secrets, tossing underbrush and swaying trees. Colors shift from green to silver in moonlight that slips through the crisscross of branches.

They watch the comings and goings of various giants, all striding toward whatever makes their worlds complete. They play hide-and-seek with horse-sized militant chipmunks and stop to listen to an occasional bird, bark of a dog, or the screeching of tires.

Later still, while in the tree, Octavius aims a wicked smile in Jedediah’s direction, fingers sliding across Jedediah’s lap. He fulfills his promise of the naughty fun kind he made the night Jedediah experienced honey intoxication. They’ve done so much more since that oath was made, but Octavius always keeps his promises.

The night after that, they indulge in a bout of wild frottage.

Both of them laughing and breathing heavy, Jedediah turns from their climb and lifts his hands to Octavius’s sides. Time ceases and they stop laughing, gazes locked intently. The tiniest smile tugs at Jedediah’s mouth.

Octavius's heart begins pounding, seeing the heated look on Jedediah's face.

“I know a come hither expression when I see one,” he murmurs. He hums and pulls Jedediah closer. Equally as riveted, Octavius feels Jedediah’s palms slide down to the edge of Octavius’s tunic. His fingers slip underneath cloth, brushing Octavius’s thigh.

Jedediah’s hand continues caressing up his skin, making Octavius shiver.

Octavius can feel Jedediah’s interest intimately pressed against him. There are words for what his best friend means to him, but — at the moment — he cannot find them.

He gives his consent and Jedediah reaches down, hoisting him against the bark of the tree, his legs lifting and wrapping around Jedediah's waist. Octavius leans in to kiss Jedediah, slipping a hand around his neck and into Jedediah's tousled blond mop.

In this natural setting, it is both beautiful and right. Octavius imagines them in Jedediah’s time period after a hard day’s journey into the untamed wilderness. No city, no roaring cars or angry, blaring horns. No hum of electricity in this new age. No other humans; only the sounds of the breeze and the call of the wild.

They hold their pose for some time, mouths sliding together. Octavius finds his footing again and they rock against each other and the tree.

Jedediah lowers him down against the crook of a large limb. There, Octavius allows Jedediah to indulge in a more dominant role as the aggressor.

Octavius’s arm slides around Jedediah’s waist, encouraging him, pulling him down until his entire frame rests atop Octavius.

Jedediah’s blue gaze is shadowed and full of questions. He stares at Octavius, looking deep into his eyes.

His face is strong, intelligent, and handsome in a forbidding sort of way. Except with Octavius and their family. Vulnerability flits across his features at the invitation. He bites his lip, a look of sudden longing wistfulness on his face.

For such a dominant and mouthy personality it still manages to strike Octavius how truly patient and gentle Jedediah remains with him.

He’s allowed himself to be dominated by only one man. This one.

Octavius breathes a contented sigh and shifts his hips, opening his thighs. “Come here,” he murmurs, and reaches out to brush Jedediah’s jaw with the back of his knuckles.

He is young again when he is with Jedediah, allowing Jedediah to divest them of their clothing, although still not ready to take the ultimate plunge like Jedediah has allowed with him.

Octavius’s heart desires that deeper union even as his mind rebels. Still bound by ancient Roman sensibilities and traumatizing events from the past, he does not permit Jedediah to mate him fully, but he offers submission in this way, giving Jedediah what he can in this moment.

Jedediah asks for very little in the way of reciprocal fair play, understanding and respecting Octavius’s continued reticence. Octavius finds comfort in knowing however far he is able to venture physically, it will be enough.

Pulling back until he can look Octavius in the eyes, Jedediah slides the undone belt from his waist and tugs off his boots. Seemingly fascinated, he takes his time, refraining now from kissing Octavius.

Jedediah’s eyes rove. He takes Octavius’s arm, undoes the bracers, nipping and licking at the inside of his wrist.

Ever the teacher, he murmurs, “Didja know biting without breaking the skin is one of the ways wolves show affection?”

Octavius shakes his head, fascinated. “I did not.”

“It’s a sign of endearment.”

Jedediah ghosts his fingers against the back of Octavius’s knees, gliding up along the inside of his thighs. His hands trace over his skin with such delicacy.

The touch, along with the cool air against Octavius’s skin has him shiver again. He wriggles against Jedediah.

Not through with his exploration, Jedediah grips Octavius’s hips, and pulls him closer. Slowly, he eases his fingers down Octavius’s shoulders, to his chest before sliding up to his neck.

Then, suddenly, his gaze ignites.

With a desperate sound, he lunges forward, and takes Octavius's lips again, pressing their mouths firmly together.

They’ve been in this position before, Jedediah taking his pleasure, and it isn’t long before his desire flares, becoming more and more fierce and unbridled. Octavius meets his every challenge, his entire body coming alive.

“You are exquisite,” Octavius breathes.

“Sweet talker,” Jedediah whispers, laughing a little, but there is a secret delight in his voice.

Staring into his eyes, Octavius answers simply. “With you? Always.”

He allows Jedediah to move him, rock with him, and rub against him, mimicking what Jedediah would do when he truly mated him.

Octavius lets him ride his pleasure out, watching Jedediah pull back.

Jedediah’s heavy-lidded eyes examine his face.

He feels Jedediah’s hands sliding under his rump, stroking the plush flesh. The grinding is in earnest now, sliding flesh against flesh.

They move together. There is no shame in it, no bad memories.

Undulating their hips, Octavius moans in pleasure as Jedediah grasps his sides, pulling their groins closer, molding them.

With a shudder, Octavius feels his love’s hard member, large and rigid, against him, sending a thrill shooting through his body.

Head tilted back, eyes closed, Octavius’s breath catches in ragged gasps, joy filling him, as Jedediah’s lips move from Octavius’s mouth, trailing down to his throat.

He slides his hands down Jedediah’s sides and whimpers, arching his spine, thighs spreading wider and wider apart, willingly leaving himself more vulnerable, knowing he is safe in the arms of his beloved and that nothing will go further than he is prepared to go.

His entire universe narrows until there is nothing but them, and their bodies moving as one.

With the tree shielding and cradling them safely, they become another shadow in the dark.

Jedediah lets out a guttural moan, and Octavius can feel Jedediah’s hips begin to stutter.

Octavius pulls them closer, biting his shoulder without breaking the skin. Savoring every last tremor of their climax, the pair of them stifle their cries against the other.

* * *

_And so it goes…_

_Time passes…_

* * *

_Later..._

Roaming loose on the museum grounds has formed into a habit. Typically, he wears his tunic or his western attire because his armor keeps getting stuck under the exits.

They laugh and horseplay, only getting into general kinds of mischief, wrestling like boys in the tall grass, making their way into the undergrowth, and scrambling for the shadows of the trees.

Sometimes, they simply walk aimlessly through the park adjacent to the museum, other times with more purpose. Sometimes, they discreetly explore the neighborhood, walking down the smoothly paved sidewalks and even venture cautiously into back alleys, avoiding the gazes of predatory giants that can often be seen loitering there. Sometimes, their conversation is animated and lively. Sometimes, they walk hand in hand without speaking at all.

Many a night Octavius finds himself being the voice of reason, sanity, and responsibility. Jedediah is too easily distracted by his surroundings and lost in the scenery to pay attention to such trivial matters — such as avoiding getting them turned into dust.

Alert and watchful, Octavius pays careful attention to the position of the moon and his own body to flag them to the time. He puts his hand on Jedediah’s arm and escorts him back to the museum’s giant-sized exit. They always manage to slip back inside before the coming of dawn.

Typically, Octavius does not mind.

Except for the sewer incident. Octavius refuses to contemplate _The Sewer Incident of 1986._ It did not happen.

It doesn’t suppress his memory of his disgust, of their footwear sloshing wetly with each step, or of the thick mud clinging to their calves and ankles. And he certainly cannot erase the memory of Jedediah smiling like a maniac through the mud and exhaustion. His face looked ready to explode with glee on their trek home.

Needless to say, the Romans had to devise a stratagem to drain and refill the Roman baths after that ill-fated debacle. And Jedediah is never persuading him down there again. No. Never again. There are white-bellied, frog-shaped creatures down there. And at least one alligator — which Jedediah is _not_ riding. Ever.

He still has not given Jedediah his machete, but it has not been needed as yet.

* * *

 _Later_ …

Octavius and Jedediah spread their bedrolls, letting the nighttime sounds entertain them. They stare up at the stars. Well. Try to stare up at the stars. They have to squint. A lot.

The stars are muted here. Dulled.

There is a good amount of light pollution which makes it more difficult to see them, lost behind the city lights, but there’s a brighter smattering here and there that's visible, blanketing them and curving down over the horizon.

Tires squeal. It's followed by cursing and a loud, blaring horn.

Not so long ago, these alien nighttime symphonies had Octavius jumping at shadows. Now, they are familiar. Although, he would not go so far as to say they are soothing or even pleasant. Barely tolerable.

They are on the roof of the museum. Camping. Jedediah’s idea, obviously.

Octavius closes his eyes, breathing deeply. The air is not fresh. It is nothing like Rome or even the Old West where the night skies are mild and full of stars, and there is cricket song.

He prefers their dioramas and he thinks Jedediah does, as well. Although, his beloved is taken in by their new urban experiences and is withholding judgment.

Strange, winking dots jet across the night sky. This, too, Octavius has heard about. One of Jedediah’s many story times with their children. It recalls to mind a history filled with disappearing flights and plane crashes. Of something called the Bermuda Triangle, and a woman by the name of Amelia Earhart.

Nevertheless, Octavius is content. He lies within the crook of Jedediah's arm in deep thought and watches the sky, admiring the slim pickings of twinkling lights that can be seen and listening while Jedediah lifts a finger. He points, talking softly, counting and naming off some of his favorite constellations.

Never in his life has the view of the stars made Octavius feel so small, and he wonders if giants feel the same way when they peer up at the night sky. He wonders if _he_ did, and finds he cannot recall.

He catches Jedediah’s hand and raises it to his mouth, lips brushing over knuckles in a whisper of a kiss.

After a beat, he frowns, squinting. “The position of the stars is different here.”

“The oldest description of the constellations as we know ‘em comes from _The Iliad_ , written around the 8th century B.C.,” Jedediah informs him. “And there’s a poem, called _Phaenomena,_ written about 270 B.C. by the Greek poet Aratus. It had a few lines about the constellations.”

Octavius tears his gaze away from the stars to stare at Jedediah. “My husband: the scholar.”

Jedediah ducks his head. Shyly, he says, “I just read it in a book, ya goof.” Then he goes back to pointing out different constellations. “There’s the _Big Dipper.”_ Jedediah turns his head. “To the Mayans, it’s a parrot.” Octavius angles his head, attempting to see the figure while Jedediah continues on. “The Pawnee saw a stretcher carrying a sick member of the tribe. Others saw a funeral procession. To the Navajo, it’s known as _Náhookos Bika'ii:_ the Northern Male. He is a man lying down on his side.”

He traces the air. “See? He represents the father and protector of the home. The Musquakie, Iroquois Tribes? Now, they saw a bear, and the stars in the handle were the hunters tracking him.” Jedediah waves his hands as though casting a spell. “The tiny star near the elbow of the handle is a little dog named _Hold Tight._ In autumn, when the Dipper is low to the horizon, the blood from the bear's arrow wounds is supposed ta’ drip on the trees and turns ‘em red and brown. Another tribe saw the hunters as wolves and there was still that little dog.”

Octavius stares at the stars thoughtfully. He covers the back of Jedediah’s palm with his own, thumb slowly stroking over knuckles.

"The Greeks also saw a bear," he supplies. "Jupiter — or Zeus as the Greeks knew him — fell in love with a beautiful nymph in the service to the goddess Diana. Callisto was her name. He took the form of Diana so that he could evade his wife, Juno’s detection and to woo Callisto. She later gave birth to a son. Juno then took the opportunity to avenge her wounded pride and transformed the nymph into a bear.”

Jedediah turns his head. The wind blows slightly, throwing a few wisps of blond hair across his face.

“Years later,” Octavius says, “Callisto encountered her son hunting in the forest. She recognized him, and advanced upon him desiring reunion. The boy only saw a great bear. Not knowing it was his mother, he raised his spear.

“Jupiter intervened and averted the tragedy, placing mother and son amongst the stars. Where they remain. Protected for all time.”

Octavius points between Ursa Major, _the Great Bear_ and Ursa Minor, _the Herdsman._ The Big Dipper and Little Dipper, respectively.

“In her wrath, Juno appealed to Oceanus that mother and son should never meet his waters. The son guards the bear, forever protecting his mother.” As an afterthought, he adds, “Together forever. Eternally apart.”

His story is met with silence. Jedediah swallows. “Sad.”

A muscle pulses in Octavius’s cheek. He nods slowly. “Indeed.”

Before long, they are making up their own stories for constellations real and imagined to lighten the somber mood. Jedediah revels in his storytelling, making up a tale of a maiden that catches Jupiter’s eye. She is sassy and a little too much for even Jupiter to handle. She turns down his advances.

When Juno hears of this, she also confronts the maiden, where upon she becomes incensed by the maid’s brazenness before the goddess has enough of her and tosses her into the sky.

Jedediah traces the glittering stars, waving his hands in the air. Forming the petals of a flower. “It’s a tulip. Because she got _too lippy.”_

Octavius frowns.

A mischievous grin crosses Jedediah's face, and his gaze holds Octavius’s for a prolonged moment. Then Jedediah erupts into laughter. It is a hearty, giddy sort of laugh, so carefree that it makes Octavius smile despite himself.

Jedediah twists from side to side on their bedroll, slapping his brown leather clad thigh with the inside of his palm.

Flummoxed, Octavius blinks at him. He shakes his head. His sweet, little, church mouse has the giggles. He stares, waiting in silence.

Jedediah continues laughing.

Head thrown so far back, the action brings attention to his Adam's apple; the laughter is a full-hearted, contagious sound.

Tickled, Octavius’s mouth twitches, rebels, and then he bursts, laughing with him.

They both throw their heads back, roaring with laughter.

Octavius curls his arms around his beloved, palms sliding over Jedediah's vest-covered back, up his shoulders to pull him closer. They hug and kiss, Jedediah rolling into his embrace, tucking his head under Octavius’s chin, still laughing.

Jedediah eventually quiets, still partially twisting his lower half despite the embrace. Octavius arches an eyebrow, tickled, and then turns toward the sky.

In his mind, he silently communes with Jupiter, absently rubbing his chest, fingers splaying lower where there used to be a constellation of birthmarks, a pattern of stars in the shape of Ursa Major on his torso. There no longer. He informs Jupiter that Jedediah and he are simply living in the now and mean no disrespect with their made-up stories.

At the very same moment, he wishes, in this instance, that he could freeze time. With Jedediah in his arms, so happy and lovable and silly and laughing and sweet and being a complete and utter goof — without the debilitating self-consciousness that typically seizes him. It is a glorious sight, indeed, and one he wishes to keep close to his heart and treasure always.

* * *

_And so it goes…_

_Time passes…_

* * *

_Later..._

Their African expedition has gone awry.

The sun exploded.

Or, rather, the artificial sun exploded, transforming Africa back into the _Hall of African Mammals._

The overhead lights dangle down, swinging back and forth while a hot burst of sparks rains down from the ceiling. Smoke plumes from the hole in billowing, mushrooming black clouds.

Mechanical alarms trip.

Octavius and Jedediah lie tangled up in wire, staring open-mouthed at the low-hanging ceiling, their minds attempting to catch up with events.

Pacing, Lambert roars. He circles the floor, flicking his tail impatiently. His ears prick, and then he whirls.

The lion bounds, claws extended at a group of monkeys perched in a tree. They hop up and down excitedly, some doing backflips, in a chorus of hoots and cheers.

“Are you still with me, my love?” Octavius lifts his head from the wires and locates Jedediah's hand. Jedediah squeezes his fingers.

“Yeah…” Jedediah rolls his head to the left. His voice is strained, a metaphorical frog in his throat. There is soot on his face, in his hair, and on his clothes. He squints. “What just happened?”

The evening had been peaceful. Quiet. They had been enjoying their time in Africa, had scouted out a perch where they could keep a low profile and watch the African mammals in their habitat in relative safety when the world had erupted into chaos.

Antelope horns rammed into mechanisms on the walls.

Monkeys swung from the light fixtures, pulling out a mess of cords and wires from the ceiling. The actions had set off a chain reaction that ended with Octavius and Jedediah losing their footing and getting tangled up in the wires.

The monkeys’ ringleader separates himself from the group, swinging onto a low-hanging branch and darts down a tree trunk as the sound of pounding, frantic footfalls, echo down the hallway.

The capuchin screeches to the other monkeys, and then whirls around and chitters at Lambert.

Jaws open, the lion pants.

The monkey lifts a hairy, primate hand to his brow. His eyes roll back, and he falls over in a dead faint.

Lambert picks up the boneless monkey in his maw, and swings expectantly toward the locked gate.

The capuchin’s head lolls as he is swept around in a wide arc.

The monkey ringleader opens his eyes a fraction and finds Octavius’s and Jedediah’s stares. The mischievous little brute winks at them and then goes back to playing dead.

“Brazen little monkey,” Jedediah murmurs.

They turn their heads at the sharp gasp.  

“Dexter! Oh my God!”

Dexter’s eyes flutter open. He wheezes, a coughing spasm racking his entire body. His eyes roll up into his head, and he goes entirely limp.

“No!” Cecil shouts, voice cracking.

He skids to a stop and takes in the chaos and the “lifeless” body of the little capuchin gripped in the lion’s mouth _._ Without thinking, he quickly brings up his keys and fumbles with the locks of the crisscrossed security gate.

The gate is pushed open wide.

Cecil barrels past a herd of zebras as Dexter lets out a piteous chirp. The monkey’s eyes flutter open again, and then close. He lifts his hairy hand, holding Cecil’s attention while the other monkeys stealthily slip out of the room and to freedom.

Ostriches flee. Zebras gallop. Deer bound out of the room, followed by trumpeting, stampeding elephants.

“It’s a _jail break!”_ Jedediah whispers in awe. “We stumbled right into a _bona fide_ jailbreak!”

Octavius’s eyes widen. “All of the African mammals have unified,” he whispers in disbelief.

The diabolical little fiend’s eyes pop open and he drops unceremoniously from Lambert’s jaws. He screeches and hops to his feet, rebounds against Cecil’s chest, and scampers out of the room.

Cecil’s mouth drops open. He whirls.

Then he pauses, patting his sides, his stomach, and his rump. He turns around in a full circle.

Scowling, he brings his eyes up. _**“You!”**_

Somehow, Dexter holds up a pair of shiny, silver keys.

Baring his canines in a maniacal grin, he leans his head to the side and shrugs. He blows a raspberry and spins.

With a final peal of primate laughter, Dexter darts into the hall. He takes a sharp left and disappears.

Cecil doesn’t have time to scowl for long.

The lion gives a fierce roar and charges him. He jerks back with a shout, and ducks toward the jungle, racing for the opposite doorway before Lambert can overtake him.

He grabs the outside handle of the gates and pulls. Nothing. He pulls with every ounce of his might, and then the barrier gives. With an exaggerated shriek of metal, it jerks closed behind him.

Lambert bounces off the gates. Massive jaws open and snap. The lion chuffs, sneezes.

He whirls, giving a rolling growl, flicking his tail, annoyed.

The billowing smoke grows in intensity. Octavius’s lungs burn and he coughs violently. Gasping, he brushes a hand across his watering eyes.

Through the smoke, he peers at Cecil again, and finds the night guard staring intently at them.

Cecil’s brow furrows. _“Where — have — you — been!”_

With a surge of energy, he leaps forward. He would have shoved open the gate again, but the lion takes another bounding leap and crashes against the metal barrier. His muzzle pushes through the crisscross gap, snapping his jaws at Cecil.

The impact jolts Cecil off balance, sending him scuttling backward.

Lambert glares, dropping back to the floor, roaring his defiance. He is joined by two click-growling lionesses, their massive heads lowered toward the ground in a stalking position.

They take another step forward. Cecil scoots back.

The night guard’s eyes flick to the three apex predators, and then he brings his gaze back to stare fixedly at Octavius and Jedediah. A faint, sour smile slants his mouth. He does not look happy.

And they had been so careful. So very, very careful.

Blue eyes meet brown.

“Uh-oh,” Jedediah whispers, clutching Octavius’s hand. “There goes the neighborhood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the lateness of this chapter. Thank you for your patience and understanding. Your continued interest and kind words have kept this puppy going. ♥
> 
> The songs featured in this chapter are: Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benatar and The Warrior by Scandal, singer: Patty Smyth. I also briefly reference: The Glamorous Life by Sheila E.
> 
> A special shout-out goes to my beta, [CuriousDinosaur.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) As always any mistakes are my own.


	28. A Brief Interlude

_Later..._

The marble floor vibrates as a pair of gargantuan shoes clack against it. The footfalls sound not unlike the echoes of thunder.

Grumpy thunder.

Gus twists around, facing the gathered miniatures. He plops his weight down upon the deeply brown, atrocious bench with an irritable grunt.

Cecil paces in front of the crowd with long strides that are spry, almost lithe.

Both men wear their typical dark, navy-blue uniforms and matching, holstered flashlights. There is one obvious, notable difference, however. Gus sports a pair of heavy silver keys that dangle from the side of his belt, whereas Cecil’s keys are conspicuously absent.

Lights flicker on and off somewhere in the museum.

Off in the distance, are the sounds of a stampede, along with primate laughter, the triumphant roar of lions, the clop of hooves, and the majestic trumpet of elephants echoing throughout the building.

Gus’s face tightens.

Cecil groans, tension flowing from him. Unable to stand still, he begins pacing, fists opening and closing at an alarming speed.

Abruptly, he stops pacing and turns around.

He scrubs a hand through his pure white hair. His eyes flutter closed, and his jaw tightens while he gathers his thoughts.

With visible effort, he draws in a long, cleansing breath and rubs his face. He lets out a sharp breath, and then takes a moment to straighten his tie until it is in a crisp, straight line, and at the perfect center of his chest.

When he opens his eyes back up, he’s masked his previous agitation with a pleasant expression. His frustration, however, remains palpable.

Poised and tense, Octavius peers at his fingernails, picking at each blackened tip with his thumb while peering up at the night guards through lowered lashes, keeping them constantly in his peripheral vision.

Lifting his head, his gaze drifts, and he risks a sideways glance.

Jedediah stands beside him, hip cocked. Relaxed, he is completely committed, absorbed in the moment, the embodiment of peace and tranquility. Hands thrust deep in his back pockets, he appears less than chastised.

Black streaks from the electrical fire are smudged in a crisscross pattern along his cheek and across the uneven bridge of his nose. The black Stetson is an ashy, sooty mess. His blue shirt and brown leather vest are soot-covered at the shoulders and his hair is curled and singed at the tips.

Miraculously, his flesh remains unmarred.

They’d been untangled from their wire prison, snatched up by an irate Gus, and unceremoniously dropped, feet first, into the Old West, landing on their rumps.

The diorama is packed shoulder to shoulder with gathered Americans and Romans.

The crowd has multiplied since Gus stormed into the _Hall of Miniatures_ and crashed their social gathering, and now the people are swarming, their conversation buzzing like a kicked hornets’ nest.

Jedediah steals a glance at Octavius, tilting his head to the side.

The action sends soot Octavius’s way. The black cloud makes his nose twitch. He scrunches up his face to keep from sneezing.

His eyes widen, watering as he holds his breath. His nose begins tickling.

He blinks rapidly, covers his mouth and sneezes.

Breath coming in short little pants, he sneezes violently three more times in a row.

The skin around Jedediah’s eyes tighten a little and a thoughtful look creases his brow. A slow grin lights up his face. He looks amused. A twinkle from their earlier misadventure still flirts in, and around his gaze. His thick mop of blond hair bounces irreverently around his ears, despite the scorching, a breeze picking up around them and lifting errant strands.

Glorious.

Octavius manages to keep a somber expression, but his lips tilt up ever so slightly in a very slow, very dopey grin.

Overcome by a sudden wave of tenderness, he is tempted to lean over and attentively brush the grime free from his beloved’s skin with his thumb.

He is entirely of the opinion that Jedediah has never looked manlier — or more handsome.

His besotted expression remains as he watches Jedediah, cognizant of the way his spouse's pupils darken at the focused attention, Jedediah peering over at him from the corner of his eyes, flirting with an equally stealthy smile that only intensifies the longer he watches.

Octavius’s crooked grin broadens. He blushes with delight, looking upon his husband with an amused gaze. Everything around him fades with the exception of his rapidly beating heart. He has no idea why Jedediah is grinning like he is, but the expression is certainly contagious.

They stare deeply into one another’s eyes for several moments, tension simmering.

Dark muttering jolts them back to reality, and Jedediah’s smile is gone in an instant.

They tear their gazes from each other, turning their attention back to the two night guards.

Gus stares stonily at them. He folds his arms over his chest grumbling oaths under his breath with gusto, very clearly in a mood. He sits so far forward on the bench he looks ridiculous.

Octavius quickly cuts his eyes back to the other giant. Cecil smiles at him, eyebrows raised, as though to apologize for the theatrics of his friend, and to relay the message that he has long ago come to terms with the fact Gus is his burden to bear.

Hands in his front pockets, he begins pacing again.

Movement catches Octavius’s eyes. An elongated shadow stretches across the hall, draping over Gus and the gargantuan bench. It seems to twist one way, and then another.

Octavius holds his breath as new sounds of shoes clack against the marble floor, and Reggie peeks around the corner. The janitor stops and peers at Cecil, hesitant, surprised by their presence in the hallway. He looks over at Gus, feeling the tension. Hanging back, he pauses a moment, measuring his mood.

Without a word, he goes and fetches a long-handled mop and a bright yellow bucket full of soapy water. He dunks the mop into the bucket and slops it onto the floor, making a series of long, exaggerated strokes.

The gathered Mayans watch the newcomer. They tilt their heads and give him a pregnant, appraising look, parting to make way as he continues sudsing the marble tiles.

Rocking back and forth on his heels, Octavius follows Cecil’s renewed movements with his eyes.

Around them, the rest of the miniatures sweep their necks back and forth, following the night guard’s quick turns, ping-ponging their attention from Cecil to Gus to Reggie, and then back to Cecil.

They’ve gotten an earful already from Gus regarding his many lists of grievances, his typical grouchy mood on full display. He is getting worked up again, building steam — and a good deal of righteous indignation — for another colossal rant.

As if on cue, Gus begins ticking down the numerous list of negatives about working at the museum, deep bitterness edging into his voice.  

He's fed up with this place, he’s fed up with all the shenanigans — mostly regarding the African Exhibit — and Dexter in particular. The lions almost ate Cecil. There’s an endless Civil War that’s been going on in the atrium for the past forty years. He isn’t making a living wage, and he can never kick off his shoes and relax like his other night guard friends because a tribal pow wow has taken up residence in the security office and locked him out. Not to mention the steady, constant roll of drum beats and the rhythmic chanting is out of control.

Arms clasped in front of him, Cecil purses his lips and rocks back on his heels. He looks up through his lashes, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes as though he knows this list of complaints backward and forward, having heard it before. Many, many times before.

“And I can’t get any shuteye above all that racket!” he yells theatrically over his shoulder toward the direction of his office. Gus is so worked up his voice has diminished into a growly gurgle.

His shout is met by the rising volume of muffled chanting echoing outside the hallway on a lower level. It is followed by even louder ceremonial drums.

Gus’s head whips up at the sound. His eyes flare. There is almost an art to his movements, quelled anger from a hundred past grievances rising up to the surface.

He waves and bats his arms in a wide arc and kicks out his leg. Lips pulled back, he lets out a snarling growl, overreacting dramatically. “Naa-aaah!”

Octavius arches an eyebrow and places his hand over his breast, indifferent to Gus’s outburst. “Sacrilege,” he deadpans in mock sympathy, because he cannot help not to, it simply rolls off his Roman tongue.

Shoulders tense, the irate night guard turns back and glares at Octavius. He relaxes slightly, completely missing the sarcasm. His eyes dart. Believing he has finally found a sympathetic ear, he somehow manages to bark through his clenched teeth. “Exactly!”

The sympathy cannot be farther from the truth. Gus’s tirade is offensive, the tone akin to the scolding of children, as though the miniatures are the ones solely responsible for all of the chaos and not a byproduct of that chaos.

Jedediah is equally offended. He snorts and rubs a gloved thumb across his forefinger. “This is the tiniest violin in the world playin’ right here for ya,” he drawls.

Gus jerks his thumb, pointing at his own face. “How am I gonna maintain this chiseled mug if I can’t catch up on my beauty sleep?”

Octavius and Jedediah tilt their heads simultaneously.

Blinking, Octavius opens his mouth and points his index finger straight up. He’s about to comment on Gus’s droopy jowls, thinks better of it, and closes his mouth. He drops his finger and rests his chin on his knuckles, and then settles for: “Hmm…”

Cecil’s eyes narrow, expression sharpening into reproach.

Noticing, Jedediah’s brows knit together. “What?”

Cecil evaluates them. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and then sighs into the back of his hand.

Before Gus can reply, Reggie takes the opportunity to push his mop through the yellow bucket’s soapy water. He sweeps in front of the elder night guard. The slop and swish of the mop is deliberately loud.

Despite the diversion, Gus ignores him, focusing on Octavius and Jedediah. He shoots them both an icy glare of death and raises his voice, coarsely barking his upset over the scorpion exhibit being decimated again.

Both the night guards slowly turn their heads and eyeball the Mayans.

The Mayans crane their heads back, peering up, up, and _up._ The gathered crowd consider this for a moment.

After a beat, their eyes widen and they smile, showing their teeth. They proudly preen, puffing out their chests, giving a little whoop of excitement.

An outburst of cheers erupts. Some do an exuberant dance on one leg, screaming with laughter. Some wave. Others swarm around the night guards and shake their spears and blowpipes happily.

“Good job, boys!” Jedediah calls over to the gathered Mayans.

Drifting closer, Octavius pads quietly to the edge of the diorama on sandaled feet. Bearing regal, he walks straight and tall, arms positioned confidently at his sides. Drawing himself up to his full height, he echoes his spouse’s sentiments. “Bravo, men!” Every syllable is carefully enunciated. “Well done!”

Their praise is met with a roar of joy from half a dozen Mayans below, rallying and whooping enthusiastically. Assassin squeals.

They all receive odd looks from the night guards. Reggie stops pushing his mop. Cecil shakes his head slowly back and forth in incomprehension. Looking down, he is greeted with a multitude of bouncing bodies and beaming faces.

Gus, on the other hand, takes their measure, fixing them with a suspicious glare. The Mayans press nearer to the bench yipping in celebration. Gus reflexively leans as far forward as his restricted space will allow without falling off his seat.

Arms still folded, he shouts at them. “Do you know how much replacing them creepy crawlies cost? The department stores can’t stock ‘em up fast enough. They think we’re into something kinky over here!”

The Mayan hunting party continues cheering their victory, waving their hands, rolling their fists in the air, whooping loudly.

The world’s mightiest army, arrayed in formation, raise their fists. Raucous cheers erupt and armor rattles as every Roman foot soldier, every centurion, and every sentinel gives an imperial power salute.

Octavius lifts his chin, a glimmer of pride in his eyes for his men, who raise their voices as one, hooting and shouting their respect, finally giving the Mayan warriors their due.

Gus’s lips thin, his craggy features conveying the state of his sense of humor. Utterly speechless, he stares at them for a few long moments. His mouth works and twists, but no words come out. Nose scrunching up, he sputters indignantly, brain-locked.

Frustration building heavy in every fiber of his being, his eyes flare and he puffs up, seemingly ready to explode again.

There is a short, long suffering sigh from Cecil.

Reggie purses his lips thoughtfully, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. He shifts, and leans his weight on his mop handle, offering a quiet, “Gus. Come on, man.”

There is a frustrated edge to his tone.

Cecil lifts his eyebrows in a look of strained patience and places a hand on the older night guard’s arm to calm him. He smiles at the miniatures once more, as though to apologize for his counterpart’s volatile nature. After a beat, he speaks somberly. “Take a breath.”

Gus’s jaw closes with a click and he sits back, grumbling and fussing. His expression is annoyed, and somewhat contrite. But mostly annoyed. He clears his throat, and looks Cecil’s way, scowling.

After a beat, his eyes close and he focuses his energies into ignoring everyone.

Back to the miniatures, Cecil leans forward, emotion threatening to burst through his carefully manufactured calm. He cups the side of his mouth with his hand. Conspiratorially, he confides, “Wonderful night guard, _terrible_ people skills.”

Gus cracks open an eyelid and scowls, but he relaxes just a bit, puffing out his chest.

Octavius and Jedediah peer at one another, already fully aware of this bit of insight.

Cecil drops his hand. In silent communication, he points with his nose, giving Gus a _well, you started this_ expression.

Both of Gus’s eyes fly open to glare at the other night guard.

Tension etched on every line of his face, he glowers with a _then you can finish it_ wave.

Cecil looks up at the ceiling for a long moment and exhales sharply. Then he peers at Octavius and Jedediah, and then finally glares back at Gus. He takes another breath, and plunges ahead, authority in his manner. “As my associate was attempting to explain: you boys won’t stay in your hall.”

Again, Cecil and Gus eye the Mayans, looking from face to face, and then pointedly turn knowing gazes toward Octavius and Jedediah. Octavius shifts on his feet. His attention darts toward his spouse.

Jedediah watches the night guards silently, evaluating Cecil’s words. Then, he rolls his head with a squint, bewildered. He casts his eyes to Octavius in search of direction. Octavius merely shrugs. Jedediah looks back at Cecil. “So?”

Folding his arms over his chest, Cecil shakes his head. “I expected better of you.”

Jedediah frowns, brow furrowing again. He turns his head to look back at Cecil. “Why? You don’t even know us!”

Gus’s lips disappear as though he’s eaten something sour, the chastisement from the other two giants only being able to contain his personality for so long. He puffs up again and glowers at Jedediah, turning on him with a suspicious eye, taking the honest observation personally.

Then, he jabs his index finger at him. “Put a sock in it…” He scrunches up his nose. “ _…half-pint!”_

Jedediah bristles. His focus switches toward Gus, his gaze darting over the night guard’s face. He tilts his head to the side. His eyes are dark thunderclouds, lightning striking within their blue depths.

Silence.

Octavius’s brow arches in quiet assessment.

A sudden, worried weight in their shoulders, the Americans and Mayans all hold their collective breaths.

Even cowboys nursing hangovers are suddenly completely sober.

The Romans wait, silent and blinking.

From the back, a cowboy whispers a solemn, grimacing, _“Dude…”_

Octavius takes in the set of his spouse’s jaw, the wrinkles in his forehead, the narrowed eyes. Calling Jedediah a diminutive term is akin to jabbing a tiger with a stick.

“Who’re you callin’ _half-pint,_ ya vertically-challenged bag of wind?” Jedediah says.

Something like surprise flits in Gus’s blue eyes; he seems perplexed by the feistiness coming from such an odd, noisy, little cowboy.

They hold the tension for another moment, glaring at one another. It is a true standoff.

Gus blinks first. Slowly, a peculiar twinkle grows in his eyes and he snorts in genuine astonishment.

Jedediah tilts his head again.

Tension broken, a hint of grudging respect glimmers in Gus’s gaze. He appears as though he’s found a long lost friend. Then his expression changes, becoming shuttered. He looks away with a sullen sound in the back of his throat.

After a beat, he recovers and takes a slow, more in-depth once-over survey the length of Jedediah’s body, considering him. He stares down for several seconds before answering in a grumpy voice, not mincing words or pulling punches. “I take bigger craps than you.”

It is said in a pout; Gus folds his arms.

Jedediah brings his hands out of his back pocket and slaps his own thigh. His expression shifts to an annoyed wariness. “Now that’s just unsanitary!”

Gus almost smiles, the natural born sneer on his face lifting up slightly at the corners. A gleam of happiness shines from his eyes. “Bite me, Crab Shack.”

Jedediah jerks back and squints. “God, you're prickly.” Hands to his hips, he turns his head, blinking at Octavius in disbelief.

Octavius flicks his gaze. “Oh, good. More nicknames.” The words tumble off his lips with a half-embarrassed, half-amused air. He sniffs, giving his spouse an arch look. “He must be one of your relatives, Jedediah.”

 _“Our relatives,”_ Jedediah snaps in a tight whisper. When Octavius gives him a sideways glance, he raises his voice and points to himself. “Hey! Don't look at me, pal! I ain't claiming 'em.”

“You say that now. But mark my words. You’ll wind up adopting him.” Warmth and pride gleam in his eyes. He lifts his chin. “He is one of the damaged ones. It is preordained, already written in the stars.”

Jedediah shoots Octavius an annoyed look. He strikes a belligerent pose, arms folded, bottom lip stuck out. “Not on your life, buckaroo.” He points one long finger at Octavius, and then at Gus. “Sunshine, here, done got on my bad side!”

Octavius clicks his teeth, supremely unconcerned by the vehement denial. He knows the truth.

When silence finally settles between them, they peer up.

Startled, they realize they’ve been too busy bickering to notice they’ve captured the night guard’s attention once again. Or, perhaps they never lost it.

Gus has kept quiet during the debate, but not necessarily calm. His lips peel back as his temper gets edgier. “Do you know I once went nine rounds with John L. Sullivan?”

Cecil’s eyes widen. He stiffens. “Oh, no!” he groans under his breath. “Not again! You never _—”_

Gus springs forward in another burst of pent up emotion as Cecil makes a grab for him and misses. A bounding leap brings the older night guard over to the Old West. “You wanna dance, _cocktail weenie?_ You wanna dance?”

His face looms above Jedediah. With no sense of personal boundaries, he poses with fists raised in a boxer’s stance, bouncing from side to side on his toes.

Octavius notices vibration beneath his feet. The ground begins bucking and jumping as the Old West experiences a seismic event. It is followed by low, rumbling thunder under the manufactured soil and rock.

Romans and the Americans shriek and stumble, shouting, as the trees creak and wooden buildings sway. The iron horse rocks from side to side, squealing on its rails in the dusty, gritty, swirling air.

Octavius plants his feet, bracing himself, standing his ground as the earth jerks sharply.

Jedediah drops to one knee as the concentrated vibrations from Gus’s frenetic bobbing up and down threatens to fling him out of the diorama entirely.

He swiftly moves out of the older night guard’s grab range, diving to the ground in a roll.

“Dance?” he shouts. “No, I don’t wanna dance with you, dad-gum-it!” He shakes his head. “I don’t dance with _nobody!”_

Octavius's mouth compresses. He bobs his head from side to side in agreement. “It is true.”

Gus stops bouncing. His mouth quirks again. He’s apparently delighted by Jedediah’s exasperation. His eyes twinkle again. Unnatural tension pulls his mouth up at the corners in what could almost be a smile.

Jedediah lifts his hand, palm up, irked. With a detached air, he grinds his teeth together and presents the night guard’s antics for Octavius’s inspection. “I swear he ain’t right.”

Octavius eyes Gus up and down. His lips twitch a few times. It is apparent that Gus is enjoying he and Jedediah’s interaction a little too much.

He answers honestly. “I think he likes you.”

Gus and Jedediah grimace in unison.

Jedediah chokes on his own breath, eyes wide and horrified. “Bull!”

Gus takes that word to its natural expletive conclusion.

Jedediah raises his index finger. “Hey! I don’t like that kind of language.”

Gus’s lip curls, but he is shockingly obedient, refraining from more cursing.

Octavius raises both his eyebrows, expression artfully dispassionate, but his gaze holds a spark of mischief. He sniffs, holding his head high. Then he leans toward his spouse. “I believe you may have found a kindred soul.”

Jedediah regards him sourly.

Gus opens his mouth, rankled.

Without waiting for Gus’s retort, Cecil sidesteps in front of him, jumping in and changing the subject. He looks directly at Jedediah. “What’s your name, son?”

Octavius pauses, scalp prickling. His heart skips a couple of beats. His teasing smile drops from his face.

Jedediah freezes, tearing his gaze from Octavius. He snaps his head around, momentarily distracted, the question obviously taking him by surprise, stunned to still have any attention trained on himself. His eyes flick back and forth between the two night guards and the janitor.

Cecil studies him intently, critically. Reggie and Gus shoot curious looks at him as well.

Hands on hips again, Jedediah stands quiet for a moment. He is visibly uncomfortable with the continued attention, so he focuses on Octavius, gaze seeking his. For a long moment, their eyes linger on each other.

His gaze softens for a moment before he finally wrests his attention away and thrusts out his chin, meeting Cecil’s eyes. “Does it matter?”

The question is quiet and yet combustive.

Octavius glances to the side to peer at his spouse. He breathes through his nose, heart banging inside his ribs. Their gazes lock, and he notes the cool note of challenge reflected in Jedediah’s blue gaze.

Cecil does not budge, contemplating, waiting patiently. He stares at Jedediah evenly, tilts his head, and looks at a contraption strapped to his wrist. “Tick tock.”

Octavius reads irritation on Cecil’s face, curious whether that irritation stems from what he knows, or what he doesn’t know.

Gus bounces on his toes, cracking his knuckles. “Speak up, goat cheese!” he barks.

Jedediah cuts his gaze back to the night guards. He tilts his head and fastens his attention on Cecil’s wrist curiously, standing on tippy toes, and then glares at Gus. His attention is sharp and bright. “Name’s Jedediah.”

Cecil looks up from his contraption, lowering his arm. His eyes narrow with interest and he inches closer. “Jedediah — _what?”_

Jedediah rocks back on his heels and offers the barest shrugs. “Just Jedediah.”

Octavius slides his gaze sideways, settling, unblinking, on Jedediah's face. He remains silent. His expression is controlled, neutral, calm. He cuts his eyes back to Cecil impassively.

Cecil’s brows furrow as he ponders that answer. Instead of taking umbrage by Jedediah's evasiveness, he tilts his head, waiting.

Jedediah shoots Octavius a worried look, and for a moment, Octavius’s stomach feels a little queasy.

Dissatisfied, Cecil slowly works his jaw, eyes growing as hard as marbles. He watches Jedediah carefully. Finally, he nods.

“Well, _Just_ Jedediah,” he begins crisply, and turns his head, “It’s a big, bad world out there.” He swats Gus on the arm; Gus glowers at the slap. “And it’s _our_ job to keep you safe.” He sweeps his index finger across the dioramas, and then points at the miniatures. “And I need for all of you to stay put to facilitate that.”

Jedediah squints. When he speaks, his drawl is slow and exaggerated. He shrugs, being as nonchalant as possible. “That’s a heckuva five-dollar word there, mister.”

Cecil points his finger again, and enunciates slowly. “Stay in the hall. I mean it.”

Jedediah folds his arms and cocks his head. His face is blank. He does not appear convinced, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“It’s for your own good. For your protection,” Cecil says. “I’m giving you a shot to prove to us we can trust you to remain unsupervised.”

“Or, what?” Ringo pipes up, curious.

“Or, else, _pipsqueak!”_ Gus shouts.

Ringo’s lips part in surprise, eyes going wide. Something behind his gaze seems to shut down.

For one moment, all of the miniatures freeze. The crickets stop chirping. Birdsong ceases. Even the whole of the museum is eerily silent.

There is not even drumbeats.

Shock is replaced by bristling anger. They narrow their eyes, glowering at the giant with open hostility. The Romans break ranks, nudging each other in open-eyed astonishment.

Just as suddenly, sound returns. The crowd falls into chaos, everyone chattering at once, eager to voice their disapproval and tell the night guard off.

Doc threads his way through the crowd and down a board sidewalk with a languid, southern refinement, and an almost feline grace.

Spurs jingling, he comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with his brother. His handsome features, his usually placid, irreverent expression goes hard with anger. Jaw clenched, the heat from him is almost visible.

“Now why would you say a silly little thing like that?” he drawls with aplomb. “That's just rude. I think you should apologize.”

Gus snorts, taking a step toward them, lip curled.

Ringo looks over, startled. He blinks, and then nods. “Thanks.”

Doc turns and tips his hat with a genteel flourish. He gives Ringo a wink and a secret smile. “Nobody gets to call you names but me.”

Ringo pops his brother on the arm.

Jedediah’s eyes has rekindled dangerously at the diminutive term. He edges protectively toward his sons.

Gaze intense enough to burn, he seethes through clenched teeth, creeping slowly, preparing to dart forward and rodeo-jump the diminutive night guard.

Mind whirling, Octavius feels compelled to sidle up to Jedediah and put his palm on his spouse’s shoulder for quiet support, deep feelings stirred inside his breast.

By some instinct, he keeps his arm down, not wanting to tip his hand and reveal his allegiance, opting to watch Jedediah instead, looking at him very deliberately.

Subtly, he lifts a palm and the murmuring buzz from the Roman quarter falls silent. After a short beat, the Americans and Mayans follow suit.

Noticing, Jedediah peers over his shoulder.

Octavius squints his eyes, minutely shaking his head. Mouthing a silent _no,_ he wills his spouse not to engage the diminutive giant any further.

There is a flicker in Jedediah’s gaze. He dips his head, mouth slanting shut. First a scowl, but then his shoulders ease, his entire posture shifting. He nods acknowledgement, calming, expression still dark.

"Well." Cecil claps his hand, rubbing his palms together. “It’s settled, then.”

Bewilderment replaces the anger. “What’s settled?” Jedediah asks.

Cecil ignores him and swats Gus’s arm again. “Moving on.”

Gus opens his mouth, face reddening, and then he stops. He sticks out his pugnacious jaw and scowls instead.

Cecil strides over to the threshold of the hall, pausing for a moment to look back over his shoulder, his expression thoughtful. “You have a choice. Now be good and stay put.” Gus shuffles disgruntledly behind him, looking more feral than pleasant. Cecil slides his eyes to the janitor, and with an air of too much theater says, “Reginald. You coming?”

Reggie straightens, takes hold of his bucket and mop, and steps out of the _Hall of Miniatures_ with a heavy sigh. He glances back, a sympathetic look in his eyes and worry lines etched across his forehead. Then he is gone, all three giants disappearing back into the chaos of the museum.

Jedediah plants his feet stubbornly and scowls after them without an ounce of fear or concern. He bounces up and down, fists clenched. “Yeah, you better keep walkin’, ya big old Bocephuses’s! Keep goin’ and never come back!” Completely losing his temper, he stomps his feet, voice pitching up a couple of octaves. “We don’t want you here!”

Turning, he becomes less certain. He catches Octavius’s gaze and looks down. He lifts his chin high toward Octavius, as though prepared for condemnation for his behavior.

Octavius flicks his eyes over Jedediah. Their gazes are charged with emotion. The condemnation never comes. Instead, he gives a silent nod of encouragement. He feels a surge of pride, mixed with affection for his spouse, proud he was ready to stand up for himself and their children. His gaze gleams just as warmly as before.

“You were magnificent. Impetuous, perhaps,” he chides with a tilt of his head, curling a finger under Jedediah's chin, “but still gloriously magnificent, my love.”

A light grows in Jedediah’s eyes. There’s a softness in his features that contrasts with the angry, rebellious feistiness of just a few moments ago. His mouth twists into a relieved smile.

* * *

_A few moments later…_

Everyone else is gathered in the hall, a diversity of humanity fanned out in the Old West and down on the floor. An immediate buzz of furtive whispers and quiet comments reverberate throughout the crowd — the Romans, Americans, and Mayans all speaking at once.

They all glance in the direction the giants had taken, and then back at each other.

Several of the miniatures nod after the giants, dismay in their eyes and uncertainty etched on their faces at the bewildering behavior.

Hands move in a motion of exasperation.

_“If that don’t beat all!”_

_“What the hell was that?”_

_“Beats me.”_

_“The night guards asserting their dominance.”_

_“What’d we do?”_

_“Now it's nothing to fret over. Let’s just let ‘em simmer down for a spell.”_

_“But did you hear how they spoke to us? Like dogs!”_

_“I like dogs.”_

Octavius stands apart, observing, taking it all in.

A neutral expression on his face, he watches the debate unfold. One fist under his chin, he uses his other hand and cups his elbow close to his body.

Assassin nudges him with his cold, wet snout. Octavius’s skin immediately pebbles. He starts and glances down.

Ceremonial beads clacking, the piglet nudges him again, giving Octavius a wide, hopeful gaze. He sniffs the air with a quivering, shiny nose, grunting softly.

Absentmindedly, Octavius hums and bends down, patting an errant tuft of sparse, bristly hair on the piglet’s forehead, attempting to smooth it down so it won't stick straight up. He takes his time stroking his pet’s neck and behind his ears.

Assassin tilts his head helpfully to be in better alignment for the scratch. He inhales deeply, then exhales in contentment, leg winding up and kicking whenever Octavius finds a sweet spot.

Octavius produces an apple from a pouch at his belt, wipes it off, and stretches it out to the piglet.

Grunting, Assassin sniffs the morsel with his flat snout, wagging his curl of a tail. He takes the apple gently into his mouth, crunching on it delightedly.

Taking a deep breath, Octavius brings his attention back.

The debate rages on.

Arms folded, black eyes flashing, the Mayan chieftain stands defiant and challenging. He says something quick and sharp. The warriors standing on either side of him brandish blow pipes.

A rumble of drumbeats follow, and the rest of the Mayans shout. The air is full of swishing and whistling as they wave their spears in the direction the night guards headed, their message clear: _“Enough talking. Let's get ’em!”_

Gleeful shouts ring out in agreement.

Spears and blowpipes raised, dozens of Mayans charge, hooting, toward the edge of the diorama.

Jedediah lifts his palms. “Boys!”

The Mayans stop dead in their tracks and drop their arms. Those who haven't already dived headfirst out of the Old West pause, and then kick up dirt.

Jedediah’s expression doesn’t change, but he moves his eyes toward Octavius. Lips pressed together, he comes over to stand beside him. In a low voice, he asks, “Whataya think?”

Both the piglet and Octavius look at him. Octavius pauses and glances around the gathered miniatures.

Slowly, the crowd quiets down and gives Octavius their full attention. Expectant. Waiting. Watching.

Assassin perks up, cocking his head like a dog, listening.

Octavius peers around, his gaze moving from one familiar face to another for a long moment, attempting to control his own churning emotions.

He takes in their faces, seeing each person stare back expectantly, wariness and uncertainty in their eyes. His gut tightens.

Deep in thought, he stands, one fist back under his chin. His expression becomes remote as he considers the question seriously.

He knows and has witnessed that Gus is not necessarily a moral man. There is something more going on with Cecil than meets the eye. And Reggie is an unknown quantity entirely.

He allows another moment to pass, his mind racing through possible options, feeling on the edge of a monumental precipice, searching for an immediate plan, measuring movements — weighing counter-movements — enough to shape his response.

Finally, he lowers his arm and fixes his spouse with a quiet, weary gaze. He has lived without the constant power plays, depravity, insanity, conspiracy, and bids for succession for so long, he no longer remembers how to respond properly. Not anymore. It’s all mixed up in his brain. His eyes stir with uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he confesses softly.

Jedediah opens his mouth. And closes it again. He searches Octavius’s eyes, frowning.

Face still and empty, the chieftain peers up at Jedediah with a watchful expression, and then at Octavius in thoughtful study.

“Hmm,” is all he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deeply apologize for the delay in updating. RL became a little too hectic for a bit there, and severely knocked me off my writing schedule.
> 
> I will do my best to get the next chapter out in a timelier manner, and hopefully, I can make it longer than this section. Thank you for your continued patience and understanding. ♥ 
> 
> Thanks goes to [CuriousDinosaur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) for her insight.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 1 -11 were beta'd by the lovely [plaidshirtjimkirk,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk) because plaid is love. Chapter 12 & Beyond is beta'd by the ever-amazing [CuriousDinosaur.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousDinosaur) This author writes some truly amazing "Night at the Museum" fanfiction. If you enjoy her work, please show her some love. 
> 
> A special shout-out goes to [ecto_gammat,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ecto_gammat/pseuds/ecto_gammat) because she is an awesome cheerleader, even though she keeps griping at me for thrusting her head first into this fandom. 
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own.


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